The Hours
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: We are separate.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello! :) I've gone back in time a little bit with this one. Haven't written Chryed for a while, so please forgive me if I'm rusty. xxx**_

* * *

"I still don't see why I can't come to the airport with you."

Syed quickly stepped back, narrowly avoiding decapitation as Christian swung the heavy bag from his shoulder and deposited it onto the platform.

"Because I'll blub, and it'll make my eyes puffy. We've had today. I want you to think of me like that, not a wibbling mess in departures."

Casting his mind back to only an hour before, Syed smiled, feeling heat creep through his veins at the memory of Christian's naked body wrapped around him. Christian smoothed Syed's hair back from his forehead and studied his face with a delighted grin.

"Are you thinking of it now?"

"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forget…" Syed confessed. A chill wind blew suddenly along the tube tracks, sending a discarded Minute Mart bag flapping through the air. It arced gracefully and lay limply on the gravel, a corner waving feebly, as if for help, wanting to be rescued from the train that would inevitably arrive. In the periphery of his vision, Syed saw orange letters flicker onto the display above them, and a shadow darkened his glowing eyes.

Christian tilted his head up, intent on making him meet his gaze.

"What's up? You're doing that ambiguous thing again…"

"Am I? Sorry… Train's due, I think. Why couldn't it be delayed, like they usually are? Wildebeest on the line, or something…"

Christian laughed sadly.

"No travelling circus disaster to save us. I have to go, Sy. You do understand?"

Placing his hand on Christian's chest, above his heart, Syed nodded and intoned,

"We need the money. You can't let them down. I know, I know. It's just; it only seems a minute since we got back together…"

"A busy minute, packed full o' love though?" Christian cajoled, ducking to kiss the tip of Syed's nose, hoping that in trying to cheer him up, it might also achieve a similar effect on himself. "And the time will fly by, you'll see… Unless…"

"I can't." Syed immediately regretted the instant refusal, wished it hadn't erupted so vehemently when he sensed Christian's emotional withdrawal in the imperceptible shift of his posture.

"No. Obviously not… Earl's Court, three minutes…" Christian bent to pick up his bag.

"Amira wouldn't be able to manage the stall." Contemplating kicking himself in the mouth, Syed flapped his arms uselessly, wanting the reassurance of Christian's touch.

"She might break a nail. There's probably no room in the apartment anyway." Christian arched, stretching his muscles. "That blow up bed I have to sleep on has been killing my back."

"Get a later flight. I can give you another massage…"

With a slow smile, Christian relaxed, pulling Syed towards him.

"Temptress. I've got work tomorrow morning, and they'll be expecting me."

"They?" It was Syed's turn to stiffen with resentment, and he felt as if he and Christian were engaged in a perpetual game of umbrage Ping-Pong.

"Beattie and Sas, and Carlo… I told you about them."

"And Carlo owns the bar?"

"Yup. You know he does."

"The gay bar." Syed wanted to leave it, but jealousy was tightening in his gut, the hated vision of Christian and the stranger, laughing in the restaurant, treating him as if he were of no importance, torturing him, driving him on.

"Gay bar, gay bar. Yes, Syed. It's a job. I was starting a new life…" With a strength of will, Christian left the words 'because I thought you wanted your family more than me' unspoken.

They both tensed, feeling the vibrations from the approaching train before they heard the sound. Seeing Syed's downcast, worried expression, Christian relented, dismissing the hurt and anger that had made him choose to leave. He pressed a long, loving kiss on Syed's mouth, revelling in his instant, urgent response.

"It's okay, Sy…" He murmured. "You're my boy. I'll be home to you soon. All the roads lead to you."

"I love you so much…" Syed's voice cracked, and he gulped back tears as the tube doors creaked open.

"I love you too. I'll miss you. Give Yasmin a kiss from me…"

Christian raised his hand in farewell, stooping slightly to be able to watch Syed through the window until he was out of sight.

"Christian!"

"What?" Christian pushed back the closing doors at Syed's cry.

"The bow! How will you know which is your bag on the carousel, without the big gay bow?"

Christian winked, and wedged his shoulder against the door. Patting the top pocket of his jacket, he seductively and slowly revealed the tip of the pink ribbon.

"Could whoever is obstructing the doors kindly pack it in, so that the sodding train can depart. Please."

The loud, bored announcement made them both jump and they giggled naughtily at each other, amused at having been told off.

Blowing a kiss, Christian retreated into the carriage, holding his fingers to his ear and mouthing, "I'll call."

The train rumbled and rattled away, snaking out of the station, heading downwards to the tunnels and beyond, leaving Syed forlorn, huddled into his coat. He started a timer in his head, imagining it large and bright, the hand made of gleaming silver, counting down the hours until Christian returned.

Discarding a crumpled newspaper, left behind by an early morning commuter, Christian pictured it travelling up and down the line throughout the whole day, and mused about how he had spent the same time. Warm and content in his own bed, their bed, drowsy with love and passion, blissfully dispelling all the unspoken questions that still lay between them. He yearned to get off at the next stop, turn around and surprise Syed, take him somewhere out of Walford, away from his family and the ever present Amira. But he knew that to be free, they needed money, a basis for their future together, so he pulled the ribbon from his pocket and stoically tied it around the handle of his bag.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Gracias!"

Christian unfurled from the back seat of the taxi, still stiff and tired from the flight. He had spent it cramped in economy class, wedged between an overweight businessman and a nervous young woman. He rubbed at his thigh, aggravating the bruise left by the woman's fingers gripping onto him on take-off and landing, and wondered if he would ever fully recover the feeling in his legs.

He breathed in the warm evening air, the scent of the sea, chuckling inside at the ridiculous desire he felt to be inhaling the sour smell of Walford market. He heard the relaxed chatter of a group, dining outside the restaurant across the road, the distant pulse of waves on sand, and thought of the eldritch shrieking that emanated from the doorway of the Queen Vic, the trundling wheels of the stalls as they were packed away for the night, the dog who barked at the street light glow, and wished he was there.

"Soon…" He muttered to himself, for comfort, and trudged up the stairs, trainers slapping on the cool marble tiles.

"HOLA!"

The slender, naked girl crossing the living room, gaped in horror as he burst in, grabbing at the towel that trailed behind her.

"Christian! You shit! You scared the life out of me." She exclaimed, in a clipped Home Counties accent.

Ruffling her short blonde hair, still damp from the shower, Christian grinned, and helped her cover herself up.

"Sorry lovely Beattie. You shouldn't have dressed up all special for me…"

"Ha! Like that would ever happen. It would have been a complete waste of time for all concerned… Good journey?"

He dropped his bag onto floor, and unzipped his jacket, grimacing at the question.

"Apart from having to soothe a hysterical woman, being crushed by a mountain of blubber, eating something that might once have been chicken and having to wait an age for my luggage, it was splendiferous. Where's Sas?"

Beattie raised her pointed chin and slewed brown eyes towards one of the doors that led from the large sitting area.

"Asleep. Lazy mare. She got back late last night…"

"And you've been wearing her out all day?" Christian giggled at her feeble slap on his chest.

"If only! Beer?"

"Please, babe…"

Kicking off his shoes, Christian threw himself back onto the long red sofa and stretched his arms above his head. He held out his hand to receive the bottle, and smiled gratefully. Beattie knelt on the floor beside him and balanced a hand mirror on the mosaic topped coffee table. She unzipped her make up bag, sorting busily through a selection of lipsticks, placing them neatly in a row with a series of tiny clicks.

"So how was Christmas?" She asked. "Crap as expected?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Turkey, crackers, stuffing… topped off by a massive house fire with people trapped inside…"

Beattie stopped scrutinising a bright pink lipstick and stared aghast at his prone form, her jaw dropping.

"You're joking, right?"

"Nope. Told you I lived in one of the most dangerous places on earth. There's no such thing as a happy Christmas in Walford." Christian took a slow swig of his drink, recalling the heavy cloying smoke catching at the back of his throat, the fear overcome by adrenalin, and the automatic impulse of love that had driven him to grab Syed back from the flames.

"How awful! Did anyone die? Your sister was okay?"

"Yes, and someone was badly injured… "Christian winced at the thought of poor Tamwar, buttoned up and geeky in his duffel coat, also made brave by love. "Jane's alright. Very well, as it happens. She's got herself a great new job in Cardiff. How was yours? You didn't go home with Sas?"

He guessed from the way Beattie screwed up her thin pretty face that the answer would be no.

"I stayed here. Seems I wasn't welcome…" She said curtly.

Christian reached out and squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

"Like that eh? Her family know she's gay, though, don't they?"

"Mmm. They just don't want anything to do with the person they think turned her that way…"

With a bitter laugh, Christian nodded.

"I know that feeling. Welcome to the devil incarnate club…" He pondered upon advising her to help deliver their babies, or rescue them from burning buildings, see if that helped, but decided against it.

"I've got an imp's outfit, complete with horns. Maybe I'll wear it tonight when I'm dancing…" She carefully applied the lipstick and pouted at him for approval. "…This colour?"

"Not red enough. You want scarlet, you dirty girl."

She wiped it away with the corner of her towel, and selected another shade.

"Vixen Vermilion it is then… Did you manage to avoid your ex and his wife?"

Christian touched the pocket of his jeans, the one that held his phone and the text he had received on landing, the simple declaration, 'missing you.' His mouth curved into a slow sweet smile.

"Ah, it turned out…"

The door to the apartment flew open, the space filled by a tall, lean, handsome man. Black hair, with distinguished flecks of grey, cropped close to his skull, expensive, well-cut blue suit enhancing his elegance. A look of joy lit his face, making creases in his tanned cheeks.

"Christian! Mi cariño! You're back!"


	3. Chapter 3

Shifting uncomfortably on the blow up bed, trying to get in a position where his feet didn't hang over the edge, Christian stared up at the sky and waited impatiently for the dialling tone to end.

"Hey baby!" He smiled fondly at Syed's small snuffling grunt, knowing he had probably woken him up and that he would pretend he hadn't.

"_Hello you! I've been waiting for you to call. You alright? Enjoying yourself?"_

"Without you? Impossible. I'm looking at the brightest stars. You forget they're there with all the light pollution in London."

"_I'm looking at that dodgy crack in the ceiling, the one you insist looks like Shirley Carter. Are you on the beach? At this time? Is there a party going on?"_

Christian sensed the edge in Syed's cheery questions, the battle he was fighting, torn between wanting him to be having a good time and worrying that he was having too good a time without him.

"Probably, somewhere. I've dragged my glorified lilo out onto the terrace. It can get a bit boisterous, when the others get back from work, so I thought I might get more peace and quiet out here. I'm shattered. What have you been up to?"

"_You'll just be jealous if I tell you…"_

"I'd better not be. Am I going to have to fly straight home and sort someone out?"

Syed laughed delightedly, and Christian cradled the phone more tenderly against his ear, relishing the sound.

"_You could give one of the many snow domes I've been unpacking a good talking to…. Amira dropped a box, and there's glitter all over the floor."_

"Fabulous! Leave it there. She's been helping you then." The statement was spoken brightly, despite the sudden flatness that Christian felt creep through his soul.

Deadpan, feigning seriousness, Syed responded,

"_She's been brilliant. I don't know how I'd have managed without her."_

"Oh. Good…"

"_Haaa! You believe that? The sunshine's addled your brain. She spent most of the time looking at her reflection in the domes, and then bellyaching because I asked her to help clear up the mess she'd made. She said it was my fault they were broken and it might ruin her top. I gave up on it, and we went round to Mum and Dad's for dinner. I had Yasmin for the evening. It was lovely. She was a little tinker at bedtime. Won't go to sleep without Moosey, and none of us could find him, we were all hunting for ages... Amira had put him on top of the wardrobe, for some bizarre reason. Tam spotted him in the end. I suppose I should have just rung her, to ask where he was, but it's good that she was having an evening out, moving on…. Christian? Are you still there?"_

Whilst Syed chattered away, Christian had closed his eyes, struggling with all the old, familiar feelings of exclusion. Of being involved in only part of Syed's life, unaccepted and barely tolerated, punished for stealing his heart, making him free. He shook himself out of his gloom, opening his eyes wide to gaze at the galaxies and planets, glittering in the velvet black above him, no glass separating him, no cold window that he had to press his hand against. A notion struck him, that if he tried hard enough, used all his strength, all his will, he could pull away from gravity, fall upwards and touch the universe, be a part of it all.

"I'm still here, Sy. Always here. I can see Venus."

"_You can see what what? Whose?"_

Christian grinned at the alarm in Syed's voice.

"VENUS. Filthy."

"_Oh! I can see a cobweb…"_

"Syed Masood, have you been letting our flat go to rack and ruin? I hope you've been wielding the Wonder Mop."

"_The Wonder Mop? I've never heard it called that before… I'd rather you wielded it for me…"_

Groaning, Christian blinked in the bright lights that suddenly spilled out from the living room.

"Don't. I wish I could… Bollocks. Somebody's home… It's Sas. She looks grumpy. Mind you, she always looks grumpy, mostly because she always is."

"_Is she the dancer?"_

"No, that's Beattie, her girlfriend. Sas is a frustrated artist. She teaches English at the local college."

"_They're nice people aren't they? Were they pleased to have you back?"_

Recognising the hint of plaintiveness in Syed's tone, Christian guiltily played down exactly how pleased Carlo had been to see him. Deciding it politic not to mention the exuberant hug, the kiss full on the lips. He had almost cheered with relief when Carlo ruefully announced he had to leave for the club straight away, because it gave him a little more time to work out how he was going to explain that things had changed.

"Yes. I guess… Shit, Sas has started with the eighties classics, that means she's going to do some painting. She must have got jealous again and it's driven her to produce yet another tortured work of art…"

"_Inspired by Rick Astley? Unusual…"_

"I can hardly hear you darling. I'll go and tell her to turn it down…"

"_No, no. You sound tired, and this is costing us a fortune. All your wages will go on mobile bills. Can you email me tomorrow?"_

"I'll try. I've got a few classes in the morning, then a double shift at the club…"

"_You could be doing that here…"_

Syed's barely hidden resentment prickled at him, and Christian retorted crossly,

"Most of my clients will have gone elsewhere and I might pick up a couple of shifts at the Vic, or the R and R. I'm doing this for us. Carlo's made me manager. I get five times as much an hour as I would in Walford…"

'And he's paying me too much…" He thought, "And I know why…"

"_Of course, I'm sorry… Christian…"_

"What my love?"

"_I'm never going to give you up."_

"Never going to let me down?"

"_Never going to run around and desert you. I love you."_

"I love you too. Sleep tight angel."


	4. Chapter 4

The cobweb swayed from the plaster ceiling rose, and Syed watched it thoughtfully for a while, instilled with a sense that, he too, was made of gossamer, vague and ephemeral. He still held his mobile phone in one hand, now silent and dark, their connection terminated. He turned his head to face the empty space in the bed beside him, imagining Christian lying there, eyes closed, breathing deeply, and sighed. All the happiness of the past weeks seemed far away, and Christian's absence left him fighting against images and insecurities that he had hoped were laid to rest. Vulnerable and sad, he switched off the bedside lamp and rolled onto his side. He touched Christian's pillow, running the tips of his fingers repeatedly across the cold, creaseless cotton, the motion finally lulling him into a fitful sleep.

The hammer of rain, steadily pelting against the window, filtered into his dreams, and he stirred. He could hear a faint beeping and he struggled to locate the source, banging his hand on the bedside table, sending his watch and a glass of water flying.

"Aaargh!" Growling, he pushed the duvet onto the floor with his feet, and found his mobile, wedged down the end of the mattress. He eagerly opened the message, deflated to find it was from his mother, ordering him to drop by later.

"Yes Mother. Whatever you say Mother…" In a mood as foul as the weather outside, he stomped into the living room, further incensed by the glitter and fake snow, left by the broken domes, sticking to his bare feet. He pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge and grabbed a glass, scowling when only a trickle of pithy liquid poured out.

"Christian!" He scolded, and on cue, his phone buzzed again.

"_Hey baby! MORNING. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. I am hot and so are you! Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

Smiling, despite himself, Syed switched on the kettle and settled down on the sofa to reply.

"It's pissing it down here, you bastard. And you've finished all the orange juice. xxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_Oh dear. Grumpy pants alert. Sleep badly? Xxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"No, brilliantly, thank you very much. Whole bed to myself. No massive man beast squishing me onto the edge and nicking all the covers. I slept diagonally. It was bliss. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_Diagonally? Kinky. I'm off for a run along the beach before work. What are you up to? Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"I'm going to stand in a downpour freezing my butt off, trying to sell crap. And chase suppliers at the same time. And my Mother wants me to do something. And I have to go shopping because you've cleared us out, you hog. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_You love me really. Xxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"Do I? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_Don't you? Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"Do you love me?"

"_You know I do. No kisses? :'("_

Syed hesitated before responding, remembering everything Christian had ever done for him, the times he had been strong and loyal and true. Then other memories crowded in, the way he reacted when he was hurt, the emotional lashing out, that Syed tried to understand, even though it cut his heart deeply.

"_Sy?"_

With a rapid tapping of his thumb, Syed filled the screen with kisses and pressed send.

"_Phew! Is everything okay? Xxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"Yes. You got it right, I did wake up grouchy. I miss you so much. xxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_Already? It won't be long, I promise. When I'm home, we'll talk properly. Like we should have before. Love you. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

"I love you too. Put your sunscreen on. I don't want a wrinkly fiancé. Think of me, in the shitty weather. xxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"_Can't think of anything else. Ha! Your hair will go fluffy. Talk to you later. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx"_

Syed needed to have a proper conversation right away, he realised. They had been so caught up in each other when their relationship restarted, they had skirted around the issues that had separated them in the first place. Both scared that, if they did, the ecstasy would be marred, and their problems had been barely discussed, left to hang around like a herd of malevolent elephants.

Syed rubbed his forehead, trying to clear his mind, went to the cupboard, and found they had run out of tea.

Water dripped from the blue and white awning above the stall and dripped down the back of Syed's jacket. He plunged his icy hands deeper into his pockets, and mustered a smile for the old man sifting through the rail of sweatshirts.

"They're ten pounds each, sir. One hundred per cent cotton. Keep you warm on a day like today." The man grunted and shook his head, shuffling away through the market and Syed muttered, "Have a pants day." under his breath.

"On your own? Where's the princess today?" Syed turned and frowned into pale blue eyes, wide and clear, beauty unmarred by the little smudges of mascara beneath them.

"If you mean Amira, Roxy, I sent her home, she was freezing. What do you want?" Syed tried to sound pleasant and unruffled, but recognised that he had made a rubbish job of hiding his hostility.

'Like she ever tries to…" He mused crossly, dodging one of the spokes of Roxy's see through umbrella that was threatening to poke him savagely on top of the head.

"Nothing… Christian called me…" She toyed with one of the sodden tee shirts, rearranging it on the hanger.

"He shouldn't be spending money making international calls." Syed snapped, resisting the urge to snatch the shirt from her.

"Alright! Keep your hair on! He had some hare brained scheme that we could keep each other company, go out…." Roxy studied Syed's mulish expression; his mouth set into a firm line, eyebrows lowered, and grinned. "… Don't stress, I told him it was a crap idea."

"Where on earth would we go? Anyway, you'd most likely pretend I didn't exist…"

Roxy lowered her gaze, becoming intensely engrossed in her boots, and Syed thought he saw a blush rising on her cheeks.

"Yeah. Look, sorry. Christian's my best mate in the whole world, and he loves you more than anything. So maybe we should try to get along better while he's away… We both miss him…"

Relenting, Syed briefly touched her arm.

"I don't think cosy trips to the cinema and girly chats are going to be on the agenda any time soon, but I'm sure some mutual tolerance wouldn't go amiss."

The loud clack of approaching heels made them look at each other and grin.

"I'm game if you are. Hi Amira, bye Amira, Syed…"

Pursing her lips at Roxy's departing back, Amira petulantly swished her hair, and asked,

"What did she want?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. Did you manage to get hold of the suppliers?"

Roxy paused at the door to the café and rummaged in her handbag for her phone. Balancing the handle of her umbrella on her shoulder, she texted,

"Babe! Told you it was shit idea. You owe me. Anyway, looks like Amira's keeping him company. xx"


	5. Chapter 5

"Lo siento…" Christian tetchily turned off his phone and hurled it onto the top of his bag. Ramping up the volume on the sound system, he faced the class, all taking the oppurtunity of the brief respite to try to catch their breath, and clapped his hands, the sound echoing across the shiny laminate floor.

"Squat thrusts. Cincuento…Go!"

Half an hour later, Christian flung a towel around his neck and watched the class shamble out of the gym, returning muttered thanks, aware, from the sight of their red faces, dripping with sweat, that it was possible he had driven them all too hard. He resolved to attempt not to make anyone else suffer that day, to keep a lid on the grumpiness that Roxy's text had engendered in him, but knew he was doomed to failure. He jogged the short distance to the apartment, heavy bag pounding against his back, hoping to make himself so exhausted that he couldn't feel.

Finding the door to the shower bolted, Christian growled at the sound of Sas bellowing 'I am the one and only' tunelessly above the gush of water, and beat his head against the wood. His shouted, borderline polite question, "Are you going to be much longer?" instantly answered with the rude retort, "Fuck off!"

"Witch…" He muttered, wrenching the large fridge freezer open, to be met with the same problem suffered by Syed, a complete lack of orange juice.

"Oh cocking hell…" From the corner of his eye, through the wooden partition that partially separated the kitchen from the large sitting area, Christian saw a movement, and Carlo put down his newspaper, rising from the low sofa into view. The blood red silk of his open dressing gown rippled as he strolled over, his face wreathed in smiles, expression changing quickly to one of concern when he registered Christian's badly concealed air of gloom.

"Cristiano! Qué pasó? You look sad…"

Taking a step backwards, Christian mustered a cheery grin.

"I wouldn't get too close, I haven't showered yet."

Carlo sniffed and narrowed his eyes with pleasure.

"You always smell good. Do you want to use my one? Are you okay? I have no chance to talk to you. How was your trip home? Did you cope? Sorry, many questions…"

Pausing before he replied, trying to find the right words to let Carlo down gently, and guilty that he was mindful about keeping his job, Christian sagged with relief when they were interrupted by Sas, barging past them both on her way to the kettle. She glowered at Christian from under dark thick eyebrows, and twisted her long black hair into a damp knot on top of her head.

"Free now, beefcake. Gah, you stink!" She wafted her hand in front of her nose dramatically, her strong, striking features contorted with disgust. Christian put his head to one side and pursed his lips.

"That's why I need the shower, twat brain. Have you left it like a swamp?"

"What's it to you if I have? It's not your house, you're just squatting." Sas flicked a tea bag at him, and he caught it and threw it back, hitting her square on the forehead.

"Bullseye…" Aware that Carlo was watching them banter with an air of bemusement and concern, Christian grinned at him.

"… Don't worry; we're both stroppy divas today. Correction, Sas is a stroppy diva every day…"

Carlo laughed when she jabbed her index finger into the air in response and began to massage Christian's shoulders through his tee shirt, strong thumbs pushing into the tense muscles. Comparing his technique unfavourably with Syed's, Christian wanted to escape, the gesture, intended to relax him, having the complete opposite of the desired effect.

"So tight…Like knots…" Carlo murmured close to his ear, his breath warm and sweet.

"It's the inflatable bed, I think. I'll be fine after a hot shower…" His attempts to disengage himself proved difficult, without resorting to shrieking, 'get off me!' and running away, so Christian opted to let Carlo carry on, figuring it was giving him pleasure and doing no harm.

Sas flicked a glance up and down the two handsome men, one with an expression of pure bliss, and the other looking as if he'd accidentally stamped on a kitten's tail.

"I don't know why you don't sleep in with Carlo. You could spend hours in his en suite, and it's got to be more comfortable… You know he wants you to."

"Saskia! Cierra la boca! No esta para…su corazón está roto" Hearing the usually soft spoken, mild and kindly Carlo, bark so angrily, made Christian jump with surprise.

"Ha! Usted es un tonto, él te está utilizando…" Taking Sas' ensuing shrieking and hand waving as a welcome opportunity to flee, Christian quietly sidled out of the room.

"What's she shouting about now?"

Dishevelled, elfin and petite in a crumpled pink nightie, Beattie leaned in the doorway to her bedroom and blinked sleepily at Christian as he crept past.

"I'm not sure. I think it's me. I might be being slagged off…"

Beattie yawned, showing small white pointed teeth.

"Aw, babes! At least it's not me. She's aerated because she thinks I was flirting with another girl. That visit to her family has messed with her head… Poor Carlo… I'd better intervene, in case he kicks us out…"

'Poor Carlo indeed.' Mused Christian, and made to enter the bathroom, stumbling as Beattie dashed in front of him.

"Ooh! Can I go in before you? I'm busting for a wee!"

Christian finished checking there were enough mixers on the shelves and looked around Carlo's bar. He felt proud of the part he had played in the refurbishments, the stylish simplicity of the whitewashed walls and the reclaimed solid oak floor. Spacious and airy, enough room for dancing when the club started, enough alcoves for intimacy. It amazed him how Carlo had trusted him to have such input, and knew he owed it to him to stay while the place established itself. It had been a busy day, the bar had been buzzing with people coming in for lunch, an afternoon drink, to meet after work, and now the night trade was filtering in. He mentally prepared himself for a hectic nights work and decided he had better take a break now, while he still could. He contemplated slipping into the office, to send Syed an email. However, the fact that Carlo was in there, going through the books, made him hesitate. He had managed to avoid him, using the truth of his busyness as a valid excuse, and had no idea how he would explain he needed to communicate with a man that Carlo believed he never wanted to speak to again.

'I could lie…' He contemplated, grabbing a bottle of beer. He lifted it towards one of the barmen, and mouthed, "You okay for a bit?" and got a cheerful thumbs up in response. He seated himself in one of the alcoves and idly studied a group of people by the dance floor.

He didn't recognise them as locals or tourists, and they seemed very lively. Christian groaned inwardly, anticipating trouble later if they became any more overexcited. His eyes were drawn first to the only woman present. Tall, made even more so by the stiletto heels of her silver sandals, the smooth black skin of her long slender legs stretching up to the tiniest of hot pants, a mass of fantastic curls, and the loudest laugh he had ever heard. Another member of the party, diminutive, with a neat red goatee beard, nervous and giggling over eagerly, appeared to be mesmerised. Even in the subdued lighting, Christian could see that his skin glowed with painful sunburn. His heart went out to him in sympathy if he thought the glamorous woman would ever deign to pay him any attention. Another figure moved out of the shadows, and Christian realised he had understood the dynamics wrongly, and nodded in comprehension. It wasn't the woman's beautiful lithe limbs he was interested in; it was the broad shoulders beneath a white tee shirt, the narrow waist, of a young man.

'And a very sexy arse….' Christian took a swig of beer and looked him up and down appreciatively, reckoning there was no harm in a little window shopping, and that Syed would have noticed him too. '…Bet he's got a face like a pug… Turn round, there's a good boy…Yay! Wrong, hello handsome…'

Vivid blue eyes met his with a spark of recognition, the initial beaming smile faltering nervously, as Christian frowned and roared,

"Come here. I want a word with you."


	6. Chapter 6

Christian remained stony faced, despite the impressive show of winsomeness, the flutter of black eyelashes, the beautiful apologetic smile that, through the stubble, showed a dimple on the man's right cheek, and sternly folded his arms.

"Pack it in, Michael. It won't work on me. Come here."

Whatever words Michael said, close against his companion's ear, did nothing to alleviate his look of crushed disappointment. The sunburnt face burned a more fiery red, and the departing of the tiniest of hopes at the sight of Christian, was almost visible, fluttering sadly across the dance floor.

Michael slouched hesitantly towards Christian, hands deep in the pockets of his baggy rolled up jeans, the pressure forcing down the denim, revealing the waistband of his briefs and a tantalising glimpse of toned, tanned stomach. He edged around the table, and sat down with a dejected bump.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, I walk into yours. Hello Christian. He told you then… Sorry?"

"So you fucking should be." Christian glowered, and Michael hung his head dejectedly.

"I didn't mean to…" He realised this was a pathetic excuse as soon as it left his mouth, and automatically reached for Christian's bottle of beer, taking a large gulp without asking permission.

"Like you didn't mean to help yourself to that, eh? What happened? Did your lips slip?"

Michael scooted the bottle back, making it wobble precariously on the polished surface until Christian reached out to grab it by the neck.

Worried that he might receive the same treatment, Michael tittered lamely.

"Don't you hate it when that happens? I guess the time honoured classic; 'I was drunk' won't cut it?" He swiftly deduced, from Christian's increased frown that he was correct in his supposition, and raised his hands submissively.

"I don't know what to say… I'm truly sorry. He was so unhappy, and he cried, and I wanted to make it better, and I didn't know how….Oh, Christian!" He spotted tears forming, glistening in the glow from the lamp on the wall behind them, and felt his heart plummet. "Shit. Is that why you're back here? I thought everything was all right now… I will never forgive myself. Oh God…"

Christian grabbed his arm to stop him flapping, and managed a watery grin.

"Michael, stop panicking. I was winding you up… Which was surprisingly easy, I must say… I hate to think of him crying….Anyway…" He paused, sniffing, searching around for something to blow his nose on. Michael mutely handed him a paper serviette, and Christian registered the phone number scrawled on it, raising his eyebrows before using it.

"Don't want that number then?" He made to return the mangled tissue, but Michael waved it away.

"God no! Phew. I felt really bad about it, for all of us…"

Christian laughed hollowly.

"Believe me, I did far worse..." The admission made bile churn nauseously in is stomach.

"Did you?" Christian was touched by how shocked Michael sounded. "Syed never said…"

"He wouldn't, would he?" Eager to change the subject, wishing he could rewrite the past as easily, Christian jabbed his thumb towards Michael's group. "Your friend with the goatee looks bereft that you're talking to me…"

Michael shuddered guiltily.

"Archie? Don't… He was one of the many 'far worse' that I did when I thought there was no hope with Rory, and now he's desperate for another go, poor sod. I only did it in the first place because I figured that even if I was unhappy, it didn't mean everyone else had to be…."

"You're like a saint, spreading joy…" Christian retorted dryly."… Is that stunning girl the one from your advert?"

"Mimi, yes…."

They were silent for a moment, watching Mimi sway sensuously to the music, arms above her head, clicking her fingers, oblivious to everyone around her.

"….I would. If I wasn't. Do you want to meet her? She's great fun, bitchy as all hell. She's off her face, though, so she won't make much sense."

"No, leave her. The D.J should be here soon, give her some proper tunes to dance to. Who are the others?"

Michael went through the group, pointing out the designer, the stylist, the photographer, and a number of people, who seemed to Christian to be only there as hangers on.

"So many! You can all come again. You're adding glamour, and swelling the coffers."

Michael giggled.

"Always best to have a swollen coffer. Sadly, we're only here for one more day. I wanted to come and see what you'd done with the place. You've worked miracles! It used to be such a seedy dive…"

Seeing Michael's faraway look of nostalgia, Christian patted his shoulder.

"Ah well, all good things must come to an end… Where are you shooting?"

"Maspalomas. It's a promo for swanky sunglasses. They want a Lawrence of Arabia vibe, so we're poncing about in the sand dunes in flapping robes, gazing moodily out to sea."

"They're putting those bright blue eyes behind shades? What a waste."

"Christian Clarke, are you flirting?" Michael bit his lower lip, and practised one of the poses he was planning to use the next day.

"No. But you are. Either that or you've got wind…Are you going home afterwards?"

A wave of jealousy made Christian consider stowing away in Michael's suitcase, and he imagined the look of delight on Syed's face if he returned so soon.

"Nah." Michael sighed morosely. "That lot are. I'm going on to Madrid for a runway, then I'm straight off to Berlin to take the shots for a car ad…." He brightened at the final prospect. "…. I'm looking forward to that."

"Don't you miss Rory?"

Michael vehemently nodded his head.

"Like you wouldn't believe! I don't suppose he's missing me though. He's taking the opportunity to finish his thesis for his doctorate. Apparently, I'm distracting."

"That's better than irritating…. He'll be Doctor Caldicott?" Christian smiled fondly at the change in Michael's demeanour, the barely suppressed excitement stripping him of the thin veneer of cool urbanity, revealing a besotted vulnerability.

"I'm irritating too. Yes! Doctor Caldicott. How fab is that? Who would ever have imagined me and a brainy boyfriend?"

"You and a boyfriend is hard enough to believe."

"Cheeky. Why are you here? How can you bear to leave Syed?"

"I can't. It's work, and money, so we can buy out the ex-wife. She doesn't know that yet…" Christian caught sight of Carlo emerging from the office behind the bar, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"…And obligation."

Carlo took off his reading glasses and folded them carefully before pushing them into the top pocket of his grey linen shirt. Even from a distance, Christian could tell he was tired. He watched Carlo hunt around the room, noticing, with dismay, the instant burst of energy when he eventually located him, swiftly followed by a stoop in his posture when he realised he was not alone.

"Mi querido…" Carlo joined them in the alcove, leaning across to touch Christian's ear lobe gently. "I wondered where you went. Hello." He cordially raised his hand in salute to Michael.

"I'm taking my break, Carlo. This is Michael, a friend from home."

Smiling a greeting at the distinguished man, Michael thought he saw Carlo flinch at the implication that Christian considered his home to lie elsewhere.

"Hey Michael. You like our bar?"

Noting the familiarity of his body language towards Christian, alarm bells rang so shrilly in Michael's head, that he feared he might go deaf.

"Your bar? Yes! It's wonderful. A great improvement on the…" Deciding 'shit hole' might be lost in translation, Michael opted to continue, "….way it used to be."

"Thank you. Nice to meet you… Excuse me I have work. I am in the office, Christian, if you need me…El es hermoso…" Carlo winked, more a slow drooping of his eyelid than a jaunty tic, and left them.

"That's my boss." Christian drained the last of the beer and slammed the bottle down with undue force. "He said you're dog rough."

"Oh I understood that!" Michael said cheerfully. "Rory speaks a bit of Spanish. He's often telling me I'm dog rough in the throes of passion… Are you okay?"

"Yes. No. Can't breathe in here. Hang on…." Christian leapt from his seat, and sprinted to the bar, returning with a large bottle of vodka. "…Let's take this outside. And I don't mean like that, so behave."

Waving farewell to a distraught Archie and a disinterested Mimi, Michael dutifully followed Christian out onto the esplanade.


	7. Chapter 7

"Race you…" Christian grinned at Michael and darted across the road. Narrowly avoiding being run over by a scooter, Michael sped after him, dancing through the packed tables outside a restaurant, shouting profuse apologies when he nearly knocked one over and deposited a jug of Sangria on a diner's lap. There seemed to be no stopping Christian, and despite being younger, Michael struggled to keep up with him. The multitude of tower block hotels with identical azure swimming pools fringed by palm trees, gradually diminished, and the noise and lights of the town retreated into the background. Vowing to give up smoking and drink less, Michael groaned when Christian vaulted easily over a stone wall, disappearing from view. Taking a deep breath, he followed suit,

"Bollocks!" He landed on his bottom in a patch of scrubby grass, and, cursing furiously, slid inelegantly down the sandy bank until he managed to stop himself by grabbing onto a rock. Pouting at the stinging pain from his palms and the greater ache in his coccyx, he gazed along the beach. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and he located Christian, a shadowy figure in his black tee shirt and jeans, stark and still at the edge of the sea, staring out across the white crested waves of the Atlantic.

Michael loped to his side, clutched his chest and collapsed dramatically.

"Fuck me. Tell me, Mister Clarke, in your role as a personal trainer, how many people have you killed?"

"Looks like you're about to be the first." Christian offered the vodka bottle to him, taking a swig when Michael waved it away.

"Need to get my breath back before I can drink."

Pressing his foot lightly on Michael's stomach, Christian chuckled.

"Lightweight. What are those abs for, exactly?"

"These are model muscles. For display purposes only. I'm a walking, talking serving suggestion… I didn't think you were going to stop." Michael pulled his tobacco pouch from his pocket, ignoring Christian's disapproving tut as he sat down beside him.

"No wonder you couldn't keep up. Maybe time for me to stop running…"

"Getting too old? Ha!" Michael ducked away from the swipe aimed at his head. In the time it took him to roll a cigarette, he ran through some ways to ask a question, that, for Syed's sake, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke coil upwards and disperse on the faint breeze, and discarded all his plans for tact.

"So, what's going on with you and Carlo?"

Christian tipped his head back, curving his throat, and stared at the stars for a moment, then wordlessly reached out to take the roll up. The end glowed red, bright in the monochrome silvered vista of sand and sea and sky.

"Christian?"

"Don't tell Sy."

"About Carlo?" Michael didn't want to keep the secret, a vision of Syed's beautiful eyes, swimming with sadness, hurt him, as if Christian had pressed the burning end of the roll up against his skin.

"About me smoking, knob head…." Christian carefully buried the finished dog end in the sand, building a little mound on top of it. "… There's nothing going on between me and Carlo. Nothing physical…"

"I sense a but…But?"

Christian stretched out, hands behind his head, trying to find the words to explain, reluctant to say it aloud, because he was scared of how it would sound.

"I may have led him to believe that there will be."

"Oh, well that's all right then!" Relieved, Michael lifted the vodka bottle, took too big a mouthful and spluttered, "Tell him he's out of luck… What proof is this?"

"It's good stuff. No scrimping in Carlo's bar… Shit. I feel like such a total bastard."

Christian closed his eyes tightly, recoiling at the prospect of all the hurt and pain he was about to cause, had caused, and suffered. A shuffling noise beside him, a sprinkle of grains trickled onto his nose, made him open them again, and he looked, stricken, at Michael's face close beside his own.

Michael gently wiped the sand away, and smiled kindly.

"Tell Uncle Michael all about it."

"When I…" Christian swallowed hard, hating the images that flashed into his mind. "When I left Sy, I was in a very dark place. I believed everything was broken, ruined, that the trust had gone. It was always his fucking family, and then me on the outside, struggling to compete. Add in Amira insidiously creeping back into his life, and a new love, his beautiful baby girl. What chance did I have? Always second best."

"The way I see it…" Michael frowned; concerned that he might be wrong. "Don't you always have to be a little bit second best to children? I found that out with Rory's daughter. You just have to accept it…"

"When did you turn into a grown up?" Christian laughed, a sad, choked sound. "It was my dream. Me, him, our family. Why would he need that when he already had one that didn't involve me? Amira milked the guilt and obligation that tortures him for all it's worth. It was as if he was being dragged down a long tunnel away from me, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I wasn't allowed near Yasmin without a scene. It can't have been like that for you?"

"No, not exactly…" Michael admitted. "…Fred's fourteen now, and her mum and Rory weren't in any sort of relationship, sham or otherwise, so I suppose it's quite different. I wasn't allowed to meet her for ages, until he was sure I was going to stick around. Remember, I got dumped because of responsibilities, and family stuff, which was quite, quite vile… I've forgiven him now, the git. "

"Why didn't you come and see us? Syed was worried about you, all those rambling drunken voicemails in the middle of the night."

"Shit, sorry! I bet those were a delight to listen to. I wanted to see you both, it's just I didn't think I could cope with your bubble of bliss, when I was standing in an oily puddle left by mine going splat…" Michael stuck out his lower lip, pretending petulance. "…Why weren't you worried about me?"

"Bubble of bliss? That didn't last long…I was more concerned about Rory."

"Charming!"

Christian rolled onto his side, tapped Michael on the chin with his finger and grinned.

"Because he had obviously gone mad, if he'd let you go. And that's the only compliment you're getting out of me… I take it you went on the rampage?"

"Like a beast. Sadly, not the majestic lion type, more of a crushed stoat. Is that what you did? Is that what you meant by doing worse?"

"It's what I intended. Turned myself to stone, got blind drunk and hit the clubs looking for something mindless…." Christian pressed his hand against his temple, attempting to press away the agony of the memory. "…Ended up weeping in the gutter, and Carlo found me. He took me to his hotel, he was over in England looking for new ideas for his bar, let me sleep in his bed while he slept on the floor, cleared up my vomit, listened to me drone on and on about Syed, and offered me a new life. He's been putting me back together ever since, piece by piece, slowly and painstakingly reassembling me, because he's in love with me, and he thinks we'll be together. His partner died two years ago, in a car crash, they'd been about to start a family together, surrogate mother in place, nursery decorated in anticipation. It was him that encouraged me to go home to Walford at Christmas. I didn't want to, didn't think I was strong enough. He had faith in me, reassured me that I'd moved on, and now I'm about to crap all over his dreams and I know what that feels like… As to the worse..."

Christian raised himself onto his elbows and took the vodka bottle from Michael, running his finger thoughtfully around the rim.

"It can't be that bad, surely? If you and Syed are together now?"

"I was angry and bitter and cruel. I accused him of going back into the closet, I made him choose again, when he had already sacrificed so much… And I flaunted another man in front of his face. To make him suffer…"

"Oh." Michael pressed at the graze on his hand, picking out a piece of grit from the cut. "Was he fit?"

"Ha! You're priceless. No. He really wasn't. I did it out of spite, not that I'm sure I even did anything in the end, I was completely wrecked…"

"There you go! Then everything's okay. Syed must understand. You've talked about it?"

Glumly, Christian downed some vodka.

"Skirted around the issue. We said sorry a lot, but never what for… Fuck, I was meant to email him, I haven't had a chance…"

"Do it on your phone." Michael was finding it hard to focus on Christian's face, it had become deliciously soft focus, and he suspected he might be rather drunk.

"Too bloody fiddly, and I can't see to type properly"

"Call him. I'll put my fingers in my ears and sing 'la la'. Or I could take myself off skinny dipping…" Michael shivered, glancing towards the breakers, and mused that he would rather not.

"He'll nag me for wasting money…"

Their mobiles buzzed in unison and they reached for them at the same time, each of their expressions softening when they looked at the screens.

"Aw. Sy says he loves me. What's yours?" Christian asked.

"Ror's sent me a photo…"

"Is it dirty? Show me."

Michael wriggled away from Christian's lunge, ineffectually trying to fend him off; pleased that Syed's text had lightened his mood.

"Haaa! Stop it! Christian!"

Triumphant, Christian jumped to his feet, and waved Michael's phone at him.

"Now let's see… It's a picture of a grumpy, funny looking cat, wearing a doll's cowboy hat… Who says romance is dead?"

"Piss off, that's Ghastly, she's beautiful. Toothless and smelly maybe, but with a charm all her own."

"I'll take your word for it. I need to speak to Sy. Come on, I'll use the computer in the office. Hopefully Carlo will have gone home by now."

Grabbing Christian's outstretched hand and allowing himself to be pulled upright, Michael grimaced, and whinged,

"Please, don't go so fast this time. My arse hurts and I've got a blister…"

"Bet you say that to all the boys!"

Christian winked, threw Michael's phone back to him, and fired up, and on a mission; he pounded away from the sea.


	8. Chapter 8

At the third attempt, Michael managed to drag himself up the wall onto the dusty track. He pulled at the front of his grubby tee shirt, responding to Christian's laughter, and over exaggerated round of applause, with a pout and an extravagant bow.

"Yeah, yeah. Hilarious." He studied the palms of his hands, further scraped and bloodied by his ascent, and wailed,

"Look at me! I'm damaged! I need these. I especially need the right one when I'm away from Rory."

"Let me see…" Christian took them in his own and lifted them to his face, studying each in turn, while Michael guiltily fought down a sudden, exciting notion, that he might be about to kiss them better. "…You'll live. There's a first aid kit at the club. Can't promise you a Mister Bump plaster…"

Christian set off purposefully towards the lights of the town, and Michael followed, recovering his composure, remembering the night in the crowded club when Christian had almost kissed him, transported through time, feeling the heavy pulse of the music in his chest, smelling the sweat, feeling the single tear drop into his mouth.

"Christian…"

"What now?"

The rhythmic chirping of cicadas gradually subdued the memory of the music, and the spell was further broken, as the spurge in the bank beside them started to rustle, and a large dark shape emerged. They both watched, amused, as a lizard shambled between them, leisurely, unbothered by their presence.

"Don't mind us. You take your time…" Christian told the lizard, and grinned at Michael. Seeing him, broad shouldered in the moonlight, kind and strong, Michael decided that, given their proclivity for biting off your face when woken, sleeping dogs were best left to lie, that worms belonged firmly locked in a can, and that no good could possibly come from reminding Christian of a time of drunken unhappiness. "…What were you going to say?"

"I like your hair."

Christian blinked, surprised, automatically touching the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Oh. Cheers! The sun made it lighter…."

"Course it did. No chemicals involved at any time…" A breeze lifted from the shore, shaking the pine trees, sweetening the night air with their aroma, and Michael shivered.

"….Wish the sun was out now, it's nippy." He rubbed at the goose bumps on his bare arms.

"Want to run again? That'll warm you up."

"Fuck off. I think my shoe is full of blood." Michael hesitantly limped forward, wincing when his Converse rubbed against his heel.

"God, such a drama queen. I'm surprised Rory hasn't smothered you in your sleep. Can you manage to stroll, or do I have to carry you?" Christian genially slapped him on the back, hard enough to add another pain to his list.

"I can manage, thank you." Huffily, Michael matched Christian's long stride, saying 'ow' over and over again in his head.

Christian smiled fondly at his efforts, the assumed insouciance, and asked thoughtfully,

"How does he cope, Rory, when you're away…? Doesn't he worry? Knowing what you're like?"

"What I'm like? What ARE you implying?" Michael snorted, contorting his face into an expression of outrage.

"A reprobate. You must admit you're an incorrigible flirt. Doesn't he get jealous?"

Not denying the truth of Christian's words, Michael answered,

"If he does, he doesn't let on, just retreats a little. I catch him staring at me sometimes as if he's two years old, and he's seen a butterfly for the first time. If I cheat, he won't leave, or love me less, but that look will die, bit by bit. Don't get me wrong, I'm always tempted, and I always flirt, but now I know I've got something better than a mindless grapple and a moment of release. So, rah for me. Do you get jealous of Syed?"

Christian faltered, stumbling over a stone, the notion of Syed with another man wrenching tight in his gut, causing him pain.

"God yes. He has no idea how beautiful he is…"

"No, he never did at school either. Not a problem I've ever suffered from… I doubt it would enter his head to look at anyone else. It's not other men that you really worry about, though, is it?"

They had reached the long stretch of hotels, and Michael could see, in the lights reflected across the pools, that Christian was discomfited.

"Is it?" He repeated gently, "It's all the other ties that bind him…."

Glancing away, out across the moonlit Atlantic, Christian clenched his fists, angry with himself.

"Yes. His bloody family. What sort of shit, insecure twat does that make me? That I'm still convinced he'll choose them over me; they'll somehow draw him back. That I'm even envious of the love he has for his own baby."

"Ooh, let me see… Flawed? Emotional? Bonkers? Human? Please tick all that apply… Christian, Syed loves you so, so much. Stop stressing."

Christian gave Michael's shoulder a grateful squeeze.

"It's been mostly stress since the moment he first kissed me, interspersed with bursts of utter joy… I'm scared that if he's on his own, without me, he'll forget… That the sense of duty he's always struggling with, will take over, and he'll change his mind, again. I tried getting my mate Roxy to keep him company, for her as much as him. Which, as they don't get on, and only tolerate each other for me, wasn't one of my brightest ideas. She told me he's always with Amira…"

"Hasn't she got the message yet?" Michael shook his head in disbelief. "Maybe you should do it in front of her."

"Ha! She'd still be in denial. Sy thinks she's moved on. For an intelligent man, he can be astonishingly thick where she's concerned. Do you think Rory would go and see him? Give him someone other than his family, and her, to talk to?"

Michael's brow furrowed as he considered the question.

"He's quite busy… Have they got much in common? I always get the impression that Syed's a bit suspicious of him, and Rory goes all distant when I mention Syed…."

"Sy's miffed because he wants you to still be besotted with him, and Rory's suppressing a violent rage because Syed was your first love. Forget it; it was just a thought…"

"Violent rage? Rory? That'll be the day. I'll ask him, if you want. He'll think it's mental…. Oh, thank fuck!" Michael increased his pace, heading happily towards the neon sign of the club. "I'm desperate for a slash."

In their absence, the nighttime crowd had turned out in droves, and the place heaved with bodies. Michael could just make out Mimi, centre of attention, in the middle of the dance floor, leaping around with abandon. His desire to join in thwarted by the aches in most of his body, and the fullness of his bladder, he was about to locate the Gents, when he was pulled backwards by a hand thrust firmly into the waistband of his jeans.

"Carlo's at the bar." Christian hissed in his ear.

"His name is above the door, spelt out in swirly red letters, so it's hardly a surprise…" Grumbling, Michael allowed Christian to drag him outside by the wrist.

"Shut up. If he sees me, he'll want to know why I need to be in the office, and he'll want to keep me company. He won't be too impressed that I've been off somewhere with you, either…" Christian bit his lip, searching for a solution.

"So? He's not your boyfriend. It's none of his business. Tell him the truth."

"I know, I know. I will, later. Not when he's at work… Down here, we'll get in the back way."

Obediently trailing behind Christian along the narrow alley, Michael laughed.

"This is bringing back memories!"

"I bet it is you dirty little slut…" Christian closed his fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle that he still carried, the feel of it making him smile, transporting him to another alley. The wind lifting Syed's hair, the pressure of his groin against his own, his mouth opening to meet his, and the distant slam of a door.

"Oh bollocks…" The large padlock that faced him shook him from his reverie, and he patted frantically at his pockets. "I've left my fucking keys inside. Shit! Michael, on your knees…"

Shocked and flattered, Michael blustered, "I don't think that's a very good idea. Are you sure? I mean, thanks, and everything, but…"

"Oh, get over yourself. I need to stand on your back to reach the window."

Michael sniggered in embarrassment and regarded Christian, taking in the size of his chest and arms, while he waited impatiently, looking up at the high narrow window in the white painted wall.

"Fuck off. You'll snap my spine. I'll break like a feeble twig…." Michael gazed forlornly at the ground, deciding that, what he thought had been on offer, was distinctly preferable to the reality. "..And there's a puddle of something that might be wee." The sight reminded him of how much he wanted to go, and he shifted uncomfortably.

Christian dropped the vodka bottle, and seized Michael by the waist, lifting him onto his shoulders and pushing him upwards.

"For god's sake! You do it then. The keys are on the desk, chuck them out to me."

"OW! Christian! That's my cock! I'm in agony! Move your hand. Quickly!"

Christian's muffled response came up from beneath him, as the pressure changed, but not for the better.

"You never give up, do you?"

"Now you're crushing my balls! Oh crapping hell!"

Michael wriggled through the opening, the metal latch batting uncomfortably against his head, propelled by a final push on his buttocks from Christian. He clung to the frame by his fingertips for a while, unsure of how far down the drop would be, or what might lie beneath him in the gloom. He closed his eyes, sent a final farewell to Rory, and jumped. Picking himself up from the carpet, relieved he wasn't dead, he groped about until he located the keys. He dragged a swivel chair across, standing on it with difficulty, while it spun around twice, almost catapulting him across the room, and lobbed the keys upwards with more optimism than aim.

A satisfying clank and splatter, as the keys dropped into the puddle, informed him of success, and as the door opened and Christian entered, he hurtled past, calling behind him,

"You total bastard."

Grinning, Christian wheeled the chair to the desk, listening to the sound of Michael relieving himself in the alleyway. He turned on the laptop, muttering under his breath, "Be awake. Be awake…" and glancing nervously over his shoulder to the door that led to the club.

Michael reappeared, zipping up his jeans, and scowled.

"This is the shittest date I've ever been on." He clambered onto a metal filing cabinet, and gingerly levered off his shoe, letting a steady stream of sand trickle downwards. "Is Syed online? He'd better be. I've suffered."

Christian drummed his nails on the keyboard, his face illuminated by the glow from the screen.

"I don't know yet. This thing is so sodding slow. I told Carlo to change his broadband… Hello darling!" His heart filled with love as Syed's face appeared, the familiar beauty of his eyes making his blood quicken. "You've got your coat on… Turn the heating up…."

Syed laughed, and moved in his seat, revealing a blackboard behind him.

"_Christian! I wasn't expecting this! __I'm in the café!"_

"So I see. What happened to the Knickerbocker Glory?"

"_Off the menu. I've got Yasmin. She wouldn't sleep, so I took her for a stroll round the square… Say hello to daddy Christian!"_

Syed lifted his laptop and pointed the webcam towards Yasmin, half asleep in her pushchair, clutching onto her toy moose, and Christian waggled his fingers.

"Aw. Hello gorgeous! You be a good girl for your daddy…"

The screen swooped back, and Christian caught glimpses of familiar sights in the near empty café, the décor he had designed, a sequinned shoulder that he guessed belonged to Kim, and then finally Syed again. He yearned to reach out, touch his warm skin and stroke his hair away from his forehead.

"I miss you so much."

"_Bet I miss you more. Are you at work? Can't see, but I take it those random flashes of light, and that rumbly thumping going on, mean you're at the club…"_

"Yeah. No peace for the wicked. There's someone…."

Both Christian, totally absorbed in Syed, and Michael, distracted by examining the burst blisters on his foot, and imagining the conversation he would be having later with Rory, registered the increase of the music's volume with a start. Carlo, coming into the office from behind the bar, draped his arms around Christian's neck and kissed his cheek, murmuring delightedly, "There you are!"

With a grinding squeak, the filing cabinet teetered forward, unbalanced by Michael's shift of weight, and he leapt to safety, shooting into frame like a cork from champagne. The atmosphere tautened with a palpable tension, as Syed and Carlo spotted each other, and Christian slowly slumped in his chair, burying his head in his hands with a groan.

In a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, Michael beamed brightly, saluted, and said,

"Who's for a foursome?"


	9. Chapter 9

Christian knew, without taking his hands from in front of his eyes, that the screen was now blank. He felt Carlo's arms slip away from around his neck, sensed Michael's mixture of emotions, barely suppressed nervous hilarity mixed with compassion, and wanted to cry.

"That was him?" The question broke in Carlo's throat. Nodding slowly, afraid to turn around and see Carlo's expression, Christian pressed his thumbs against his brows, digging into the flesh, making a pain to try to mask the one of hopelessness stabbing at his heart.

"That was him…"

"I interrupted, so sorry…" The hubbub from the club subsided as Carlo firmly closed the door behind him.

A sea of paperwork, strewn from the fallen filing cabinet's drawers, had wedged under the wheels of Christian's chair, and Michael heaved it around with difficulty. Kneeling in front of him, he forced Christian's hands from his face, pulling at his wrists while he resisted.

"It'll be okay! Maybe the connection cut out, or something. Syed probably didn't see anything… No one was naked, anyway…"

"And perhaps Rory will buy you a unicorn for Christmas." Christian responded hollowly, gazing gloomily into worried blue eyes.

"Hope so. I'll put it on my list…" Michael smiled, and stroked Christian's cheek, willing him to become more positive. "…Get him back online, call him, send a carrier pigeon, explain. He'll understand! It's not your fault whatshisname has fallen in love with you."

"Carlo…Poor Carlo." Christian groaned, and gently moved Michael's hand away and studied his grazed palms, attempting to find the energy to galvanise himself into some sort of action.

"The first aid kit was in the cabinet that you've spectacularly felled…"

"Whoops. It'll be on the floor somewhere now, along with my shoe…. It doesn't matter, I'll milk it for all it's worth later. Archie will probably lick my wounds clean if I ask him…." Michael shuddered at the prospect of such slavish devotion and the horrible guilt that a crushed, unrequited passion, could engender. With a greater insight, and an empathy that surprised him, he understood how awful Christian was feeling about Carlo, a man whose expectations he had shattered, yet knew that it was of miniscule importance, compared to the fear he would lose Syed again.

"Carlo can wait, can't he? Ring Syed. Where's your phone?"

"In my pocket…" Christian stopped Michael from reaching for it, pushing against his chest. "…There's no point. He won't answer. He'll have flounced off to brood, and who can blame him? Most likely, he's packing his stuff to move in with his parents. Amira will be overjoyed… Fuck it. I need to book a flight."

He turned to the laptop and typed frantically, scrolling through the airline's website, hunting with increasing desperation. Michael switched on the main light, the fluorescent tube flashing, strobe like, as it warmed its way to full power, making them both blink. He set about gathering papers up from the floor, made a desultory attempt to file them correctly, quickly gave up the effort, and shoved them into random piles. He glanced at Christian, hunched over the desk, muttering expletives.

"Bollocks! How can it be fully booked? Oh, for fucks sake! How much? I could charter my own arsing jet for that…."

"I could see if I can get you on the flight with my lot…" Michael offered. "Kidnap one of them; bury them in sand or something…."

"Helpful. Oh this is shit." With a roar, Christian slammed the laptop shut and kicked the leg of the desk. Defeated, he decided he would get drunk, completely and utterly, so drunk that he couldn't remember his name, or why he hurt.

"Michael, there's a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard under the sink, you going to help me drink it?"

"Sure! I have to be up in two hours though…"

"That's time enough. There's some bleach and a bucket in there too…"

Michael did a double take, frowning quizzically.

"Whiskey and bleach cocktail? I love you mate, but I'm not entering into a suicide pact. Things aren't that bad, surely?"

"Idiot. It's to chuck in the alley, clear up your piss. Here…" Christian bent down and retrieved Michael's shoe from underneath a folder.

Grains of sand, left trapped under the insole, prickled against his sore foot, and Michael limped over to the sink in the corner of the small office, grumpily banging the cupboard doors, pinching his finger with the handle of the bucket. Above the roar of the water gushing from the tap, he shouted,

"You're spoiling me with all this glamour! You certainly know how to show a boy a good time…" He turned the tap off with his elbow and struggled with the childproof cap on the bleach, wincing at the stinging from his grazes. Squirting out a generous stream, he added a little more for good measure, opened the door and hurled the contents outside.

"I hope there was no one out there getting a little bit of sumthin' sumthin'…. Possibly not the soaking they'd be bargaining for… Oh, Christian…"

Christian's eyes were puffy and red, and Michael saw the glisten of unshed tears. He dropped the bucket, grabbed the whiskey, and positioned himself on the desk, studying his face with concern.

"…Please don't cry. If I have to kiss you to make you stop, I'll get into all sorts of trouble."

With a feeble laugh that turned into a hiccup, Christian chucked him under the chin.

"Soft bastard. I'm glad you came back into Syed's life. Even if you are a bit of a pain in the arse."

"Pun intended? Err, thanks…At the risk of being boring, call Syed… Ooh! Is that buzzing?"

Christian's hand shot to the pocket of his jeans, dragging out his phone.

"Sy!"

Giving him the thumbs up, Michael mouthed "Yay! Send my love," and slid off the desk. Darting to grab the whiskey, he flashed a dazzling smile, and disappeared out into the club.

"_Hey." _Syed's voice was flat, depressed, and Christian swallowed, sick with nerves.

"You disappeared…"

"_You seemed busy. Who was that man? And what's Michael doing there?"_

Christian had the distinct impression that Syed wanted to add, "When I'm not."

"He's doing an advert, at Maspalomas, the place with the amazing sand dunes; remember I showed you the pictures? He came in with the people he's working with, to see what I'd done with the place. He sends his love. He's looking really good, still madly in love with Rory. We'll have to have them over for dinner when I get home… Sy… Shall I come home?"

His own breathing rasped loud in his ears, emphasising the silence at the other end of the line, the length of time before Syed answered seeming to last an age.

"_Whatever you want. Don't you need to stay for him?"_

"For who? Michael's leaving straight after the shoot…"

"_Don't be obtuse, Christian." _Syed snapped. _"I take it that was your boss draped all over you?"_

"Draped? He's Spanish, what can I say?"

"_What can you say? Is there, was there, something going on between you two?"_

"No!" Christian hated the sorrowful tone, knew Syed feared the worst. "Nothing has happened, I swear!"

"_Oh. Right."_

"Don't you trust me?"

"_I do… But we weren't together, and…" _A baby's cry split the silence behind Syed, and he took a sharp intake of breath, torn.

"Honestly Sy. I would have told you. I'll come home, soon as I can get a flight…"

"_You've only just got there; don't you have to give notice? Won't it leave them in the lurch…? I'm going to have to go. Yasmin…"_

"Does Amira ever look after her?" Christian groaned inwardly, berating himself for sounding tetchy.

"_We've got meetings early in the morning, she deserves a break. Besides, I want to have Yasmin as much as I can, while…"_

'While what?' Christian managed not to shout. 'While I'm not there? While you still can?' Struggling to remain calm, he answered,

"Of course you do. I'm sorry."

"_No, I'm sorry. Look, it's late, I'm shattered, you must be too. And if you're with Michael, I expect, a little bit drunk?"_

The wailing in the background increased agonisingly. "A little bit." Christian admitted. "Go and see to her. I love you."

"_I love you too. Night…"_

"Night my darling. We'll talk properly, soon…Miss you."

Mimi sat propped against the wall, in one of the alcoves, fast asleep. Despite having her mouth wide open, and snoring quietly, she still managed to look exquisite and exotic. With his head on her lap, Michael stretched out along the seat, shoes off, contorting to take photographs of the soles of his feet with his phone. Christian slid along to sit beside him, grabbing hold of his waving legs.

"What ARE you doing?" He asked.

"Taking pictures of my damage. I have damages, Rory must see them…"

Christian lifted the bottle of whiskey, noticeably depleted, from the table, and took a swig.

"You've put a lot of this away."

"Mimi helped…" Michael cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "SSHH! SHE'S ASLEEP!" Squinting blearily at Christian, he reached out to pat his knee. "Is everything better now? How is Syed? Lovely Syed and his lovely, lovely hair! I love Syed…" Michael struggled upright, swaying against Christian, placing his hands on his shoulders for support. "…And you love Syed even more, so tell that poor man."


	10. Chapter 10

"You total bastard!"

Christian recoiled from the blow of a tea towel, swiped across his jaw, thankful it wasn't a saucepan.

"I know… Sas, stop it!" He managed to grab the edge of the material, trying to wrest it from Sas' grip. She let go, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath, as, hair whipping across her face, she pummelled fiercely at his chest, her hands clenched into fists.

He endured the assault stoically; his mouth set into a grim line, feeling that it was all he deserved, until Beattie shot across the room, and seized Sas by the waist. Showing surprising strength for one so slender, she eventually managed to drag her shrieking girlfriend away.

"For fuck's sake Sas! He hasn't killed anyone. Calm down!" Beattie smoothed the hair from Sas' blazingly angry face, so pink with rage that Christian was surprised it didn't have steam rising from it, and uttered soothing, cooing noises. She rolled her eyes at Christian, and explained mildly,

"Sas is very protective of Carlo. They go back a long way…"

"Yeah. We do. He's a wonderful, kind, generous man…" Sas made another lunge at Christian. "And you've been leading him on since the moment you picked him up…"

Christian stayed, motionless, in the doorway to the flat, his keys dangling, poised above a bowl on the small gilt console table, and felt reduced to the size of an ant.

'Smaller,' He decided. 'A microbe…'

"I swear that was never my intention… Where is he?"

Indicating towards the terrace with a dip of her blonde head, Beattie increased her hold on Sas, preparing for another onslaught.

"And he's fucking drinking again, Christian. So well fucking done." Sas hissed.

"Sas, hush. Come on. Come to bed. I'll make it better…"

Christian watched them walk to the bedroom; wrapped around each other, and yearned desperately for Syed, wanting him there to make it better for him, to kiss away the twisting wrench of guilt in his gut.

He dropped the keys, and the jangling of metal onto china made him home sick. He imagined himself in the old flat, wanted to shout, "Hey sexy. I'm home!" See Syed's face turn sleepily towards him, concentration dragged from his book, watch him light up with joy as he reached for an embrace. He longed to be scolded for having drunk all the milk, or juice, or for being late, or too noisy. To lie next to him, on the long white sofa, and talk peacefully about the day.

"Never should have moved…" He muttered, wishing he could smell the incense that barely masked the scent of the chippy beneath, instead of the sweet salty pine air, drifting in through the open doors to the terrace.

Carlo sat in one of the metal chairs, illuminated by a lantern on the wall, intently studying a photograph. He turned, startled, when Christian touched his shoulder, and smiled forlornly. In one movement, he pulled the headphones away from his ears, letting them rest around his neck and quickly slipped the photograph from sight.

"I didn't hear…"

"No…" Christian slipped into a seat on the other side of the small round table, the sight of the open bottle of red wine in front of Carlo making his stomach sink. He traced one of the shining orange tiles on the mosaic top, digging his fingernail into the grout beside it. "….What were you listening to?"

Shrugging, Carlo met his eyes, dark circles beneath and the lines etched deeper, and Christian saw his sorrow.

"An old song… Memories. You understand?" He turned the bottle of red wine around, and his wedding ring gleamed dull gold against the ruby liquid, mirroring the streaks that slowly spread on the horizon, across the sleeping town, slashes of colour in the sky above the sea, heralding the beginning of another day.

"I do…" Christian reached out to take his hand, and thoughtfully twisted the metal band. "I'm so sorry, Carlo… If I gave you hope… It's just, Syed…"

"Cariño. I worry for you… How he made you feel." Carlo pulled away, and slid the bottle over. "You want?"

"I've had enough. Should you be drinking?"

With a wry grin, Carlo pointed to his untouched glass and the photograph slid from his lap, fluttering to the floor. He bent to retrieve it, but Christian moved more quickly, beating him to it, and lifted the well-worn picture, its edges creased, and studied it, his shoulders stooped with sadness.

The two faces that gazed out at him epitomised happiness and hope. Matching suits and festively gaudy purple ties, identical white carnations in their buttonholes and smiles so wide and bright they could have created a new star.

"I could never have replaced him Carlo."

"No. You never could. A love that only happens once… It is okay, Christian. You seemed so lost when I found you. I thought we could be lost together. Yet they hold our hearts… It happened when you went back? I was confused, I wondered, you and your handsome friend tonight…"

"Michael? He went to school with Syed, he's part of the life we have. At home."

A moth battered at the lamp, burning the fragile dust on its wings, compelled to carry on, regardless of the pain, and Christian understood, too well, the helpless pull of the agonising attraction.

"The wife and daughter?" Carlo asked gently. Taking the photograph from Christian, he looked at it once, and put it carefully away in the breast pocket of his shirt.

"He chose me. He chose me, again." The knowledge made Christian triumphant, gave him an urge to do a victory lap around the town, waking up the drowsy residents with a cacophony of whooping. Then his delight declined, crushed by a horrible recognition of all the collateral damage that had occurred along the way.

"And you believe him now? Trust him?"

"Yes…" Christian realised he sounded uncertain, aware that it wasn't Syed he doubted, more his own latent issues, lurking under the surface silent as sharks, waiting to be addressed.

"Make sure he knows. Before it is too late… Time can be short…" Carlo stopped abruptly, holding himself in check, and made to get up.

"Carlo, I am so sorry. If I ever led you on, made you think…. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. Without you, I could never have faced going back to Walford…" They exchanged glances, struck by the irony "…I'll book into a hotel until I can get a flight home…"

Genuinely shocked, Carlo frowned.

"But why? There is no need. You need money, no? For your future. Stay a little while; bring your Syed for a holiday. I expect an invitation to the wedding…"

Christian pushed back his chair, sending it clattering onto the stone floor, and grabbed Carlo into a hug, clasping him tightly, distraught that he was unable to magic a happy ending for him.

"Guest of honour. Thank you so much, Carlo, for taking care of me. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

Stepping away, Carlo ran his thumb along the line of Christian's collarbone.

"Work hard. Love your man, and never let him go. We must sleep now. It's morning."

The sand moved in an eddy, sibilantly shifting from the ridge, and Michael gazed moodily into the distance, glad that the designer shades were protecting his eyes from the glare of the sun. The long white robe he wore, spread out in a pool behind him, dragging heavily when he pointed to where Mimi, in an indecently miniscule, leopard print bikini, lay at his feet.

"I think she's asleep." He remarked.

"She so isn't." Mimi snarled, and rolled onto her front. "She's dying. Can I get a water?"

The director sighed, beckoning to a bored looking blonde girl who listlessly opened a cool box and sloped over with a bottle, handing it to Mimi.

"Cheers. Michael, baby, can you drip it into my mouth?" She wheedled plaintively.

"Fuck off. Drip it into your own mouth. If I move my head too much, it'll fall off."

"Guys!" The director, a young, balding man, hair carefully arranged to cover the evidence, tetchy and also hung over, irritated by the fact that the sand was ruining his two hundred pound shoes, sighed in frustration. "Can we get on? The light will change soon, and the place will start filling up."

"Sorry, sorry…" Michael resumed his pose.

"That's great… Mimi, sit up, and grab Michael's knees. Cool, raise your sunglasses and look at him…"

The whites of Mimi's big brown eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and too much alcohol, and Michael giggled when the director quickly asked her to put the glasses back on. She prodded him sharply in the shin.

"It's your fault, dragging me to that club."

"You bloody loved it, sending the boys straight."

Mimi's mouth curved into a sensuous leer.

"It was awesome. Who was your hot friend?"

"Christian. He's taken…"

The director clapped his hands impatiently.

"Can you PLEASE stop yakking? Michael, lower the shades, look over the top of them. You want her… Yeah, that's sexy. Good."

The image of Rory that popped into his mind, spectacles dropped to the end of his nose, studying him, dark eyes bemused and loving, made the savage pain in his temples slightly more bearable, and stopped the alarming fretting that the sunlight might make him go blind.

"Archie, can you sort out Michael's Galabeya?"

Mimi cackled at the director's request, and, as Archie bounded forward, over excited, exuberantly fiddling about with the hem of Michael's costume, muttered,

"I bet he'd love to."

Michael was wondering if Archie was going to burrow beneath it and grab hold of his privates, when something rang in his pants.

"Oops! That's me. Apologies!" He lifted up the yards of material, rummaging around, almost making Archie faint in the process, and pulled out his phone. Exasperated, the director raised his hands to the clear blue sky, and admitted defeat.

"Take five everyone..."

Michael wandered away from the group, feet sliding deep into the soft sand, and held the phone close to his ear.

"Hello honey!" His voice croaked, hoarsened by the excesses of the night.

"_Oh dear, all gravelly. Good time?" _Hearing Rory, at the other end of the line, faint and crackly due to the weak signal, made him beam foolishly with delight.

"Crazy. Went to Christian's bar, and guess what?"

"_Christian was there, and he tortured you on an assault course. I worked that out from one of the many garbled messages."_

"Oh darling, did I wake you?"

"_Nope. I had the phone turned off. I thought you might call."_

"Charming! You're up early. Did you wet the bed?"

"_Ha! Kind of. It started pissing down with rain, and the roof leaked again. You seem to have sent me pictures of a selection of body parts. The ones of blisters and grazes were a little derivative, but I particularly liked the last few, the composition was magnificent."_

"I didn't, did I? I did… Those were specially created with you in mind."

"_I should hope so. The reception's awful. You sound like you're on the high seas."_

"I'm a ship of the desert."

"_You did what in the dessert? You could have just not left a tip… When do you get to the hotel tonight?"_

The prospect of another night in a soulless room made Michael slump dejectedly onto the sand. Although he knew, undoubtedly, that it would be luxurious, with towels as thick and fluffy as the cloud that had appeared above him, a gigantic bed and all the room service he could ever desire, he would swap it in an instant for a dusty attic room, crammed with books, a rickety iron bedstead and a lumpy mattress. Because that was where Rory was, waiting patiently for him.

'I wouldn't even swear when I bumped into stuff.' He mused, answering,

"About nine, if the flight isn't delayed. Will you be in?"

"_Yes. It's my turn to harangue Fred about her homework. She sends her love. She misses you."_

"I'll ring her…" Michael turned, hearing a shout, and saw Archie's flame red hair as he struggled over the crest of the dune behind him.

"_Don't go offering bribes; we've got nowhere to put a pony. Or One Direction… I'll see you later then? Albeit on a screen…"_

"You most definitely will. I've got to go, I'm being called… Oh! Ror. Christian asked, would you go and see Syed, if you've got any time? He's stressing about him being on his own, without him."

"_He's not on his own, though, is he? Isn't he running some business with his ex?" _Rory responded, evidently perplexed.

"I think that's the problem. Don't worry about it. I said I'd ask. Christian's still a bit raw after the break up, despite them being back together."

"_I don't mind, I like Syed. Even though I always get the distinct impression he thinks I'm wrong in the head…"_

Michael laughed.

"You ARE wrong in the head."

"_I must be. I'm in love with you." _


	11. Chapter 11

_**Smut alert :)**_

* * *

Christian watched the foaming water circle around his feet, lapping across his toes before it sluiced down the plughole with a loud gurgle, and imitated the noise it made. It dawned on him that he hadn't felt any desire to sing during his shower, in fact, that he only seemed to want to when Syed was there to hear him.

'Good thing, really…' He thought. "….The racket would only make my head hurt more."

He pushed open the plastic panel and stepped out. Grabbing a towel from the rail, he wrapped it tightly around his waist. The mirror above the basin reflected nothing, covered with steam, and he gazed blankly at it for a moment.

"Vanished…" With a sigh, he used the side of his hand to wipe the surface clear, and reached for his razor. Seeing it lying neatly next to Carlo's on the bathroom shelf, he left it there, picked up a can of shaving foam and squirted it liberally over the glass, obscuring the image of his own tired, drawn face.

The apartment was quiet and cool, and seemingly deserted. The only sound a low hum from the air conditioning unit, and the muted rush of traffic and tweeting of birds beyond the double glazed windows.

He yawned widely, stretching the muscles in his jaw. What little sleep he had managed had been fitful, filled with dreams of fires, shouting, and ceilings crashing down. He had woken sprawled over the edge of the blow up mattress, sweating under the bright sun and with a palm frond from the plant in a tub beside him tapping irritatingly against his forehead. He glanced at the sofa in passing, vowing to sleep on it at the first oppurtunity and yanked open the fridge door.

"We're out of milk."

"Jeez!" Christian clutched his bare chest in shock, and Beattie, squatting on the floor beside the dishwasher, grinned apologetically.

"Oopsie! Have I given you a heart attack?"

"Yes. And a prolapse. What are you doing lurking down there?"

Beattie jumped up, tugging at the hem of her tiny red denim shorts, so that they almost, but not quite, covered her buttocks and triumphantly waved a gold hoop earring at him.

"Hunting for this. Sas lost it when she was beating you up… Oh no! She's bruised you…" Beattie pressed a scarlet painted nail against Christian's skin, and frowned with concern.

"Where?" Christian struggled to make out the blue mark. "That? I've had worse. Nastier…." He knew exactly the man to kiss it better, and wished he wasn't so very far away.

"She shouldn't have done it. If it's any consolation, she's very contrite this morning. And horrifically hung over."

"I know how she feels. Is she still in bed?" Christian looked cautiously at the closed door to their bedroom, hoping Sas wouldn't be waiting behind it, rage refreshed, about to burst out with a machine gun.

"No, she's dragged her broken carcass to work. She wanted to skive off but I made her go, as punishment. You know Carlo and Benny took her in when she was sleeping on the beach, don't you? Not really an excuse for trying to beat you up…"

Beattie grimaced, moving her lower lip sideways, looking to him for forgiveness by proxy.

"I heard…Another waif and stray, like me. Honestly, it doesn't matter. It was a weird night, and I probably deserved it. I should have told Carlo I'd got back together with my fiancé… Have you seen him today? Is he okay?"

"I think so…" Beattie heaved herself up to sit, cross-legged, on the marble worktop, making Christian smile, picturing her as a pixie in an acorn hat, perched on top of a toadstool. "…What are you grinning at? He's gone out to get some supplies… I wish he'd hurry up, I'm gagging for a coffee!" Beattie leaned over and switched on the kettle. "I'll have a black one… No, Christian, seriously, he's been so much better since you arrived. That might have been because he had hopes, or caring for you might have taken him out of himself, could be both. It's not your fault if you can't love him the way he'd like… Speak of the devil. Hola Carlo!"

"Hola Hermosa! Christian! You're awake. You feel well?"

Beattie jumped down and relieved Carlo of his shopping bags, hunting eagerly through them. Locating the milk, she set about preparing drinks, banging the cupboard doors and clanking mugs together. Christian took advantage of the frenetic activity to study Carlo's demeanour. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the fridge door, eyes following Carlo's every movement, relieved to see him laugh as Beattie struggled with the coffee grinder, noticing how relaxed and fresh he appeared, all signs of his grief hidden away.

"Why so quiet, querido?" Christian endured the vigorous hair rubbing, and slapped Carlo on the arm affectionately in response.

"Hurts my head to speak. I think I'll change that vodka we're selling, think it's made with antifreeze…."

Carlo chuckled and waggled his finger.

"Better in small doses? You want some breakfast?"

The grumbling of Christian's stomach in response, made Carlo laugh again, and Christian allowed himself to believe that, perhaps, everything was going to be all right after all.

"Is there any bacon hiding in those bags?"

"Of course! Sit! Sit! You too Beattie. I'll make you both a horrible English fry up. Then Christian, Beattie will come and help me in the bar, and you can stay here…" Carlo waved away his attempts at protestation. "Use my laptop. Find different vodka, draft me an advert for a new manager for when you want to leave, speak to your gorgeous man…"

"_Hello!" _ Syed surreptitiously wiped the corner of his mouth, and swallowed. _"I'm eating my lunch."_

Propping a cushion behind his head, Christian made himself more comfortable, his heart filling with joy at the sight of Syed's face on the screen.

"What have you got?"

Syed slid his plate out of view, looking shifty, and declared brightly,

"_Salad!"_

"And ketchup? You've got some on your chin…"

"_Damn it! Sussed… You want one?" _ Syed waved a chip, leaving a little smear, and he briefly disappeared in a blur of white while he wiped it away with a tissue.

"_Can you still see me? I suppose you had a power shake and a super food smoothie at dawn, followed by a quick burst of weight lifting."_

Christian stifled a belch.

"Course. Or I could have had a big ol' greasy fry up."

"_Greedy. Why are you lying on the sofa with your top off? Not that I'm complaining... Shouldn't you be at work?"_

"Carlo gave me the afternoon off. Yay!"

"_Oh, right…" _ Syed turned away, and Christian guessed he had begun to shred the tissue into little strips.

"Sy… What's up?"

Blinking worriedly at the web cam, Syed composed his features and asked blithely,

"_Does Carlo have feelings for you?"_

"Yes. Yes he does." Christian admitted. "He's been lonely since his partner died. He thought…. It's okay, Sy. He knows I love you…."

"_What if… What if you hadn't come home? Do you think…? You and him?"_

The soft vulnerability of Syed's lips made Christian ache with longing, and he answered honestly.

"I don't know. Possibly, eventually. It would have been second best for both of us, making do, comfort. A million miles away from how I feel for you. Will always feel. Are you on your own?"

"_Yes… I should be going to help… It doesn't matter."_

"Will you take me to bed?"

Christian waited patiently, catching glimpses of their flat, bits and pieces flashing into focus as Syed moved the laptop. He saw the familiar pictures on the walls, the washing up left from the night before, a baby's rattle, and finally their bedroom.

"Syed Masood! Haven't you changed the duvet cover since I left?"

Bouncing down onto the mattress, Syed grinned impishly.

"_It smells of you."_

"Ah, fair enough… I'm going to take off your shirt."

"_You're not wearing my shirt… You're not wearing anything."_

"I have a towel on…." Christian lifted the laptop, angling it down, and pulled the towel from around his waist. "I don't have a towel on anymore."

"_No… No, I can see you don't."_

"Your hands are my hands, my mouth, my tongue. Everything you do, imagine it's me. That I'm there in the room with you…"

Mutely, his pupils wide, Syed fumbled with the buttons on his black shirt, struggling out of the sleeves, one of the cuffs snagging on his watch, and Christian's pulse quickened as an overpowering lurch of lust consumed him.

"Jeans… I'm unzipping the fly…"

Syed paused, raising one eyebrow.

"_You've forgotten my belt…"_

"Ha! I'm a fool…. Faster, I'm ripping them off you… Oh god, commando…."

"_I got a bit behind with the washing."_

"Fuck, Sy…" Christian arched his back, struggling to pace his need. "Lie down…"

"_Where are you going to touch me?"_

"Your neck, my tongue is on your neck… and down."

Gasping in a lungful of air, on the edge, Christian watched Syed trail his fingers sensuously over his own body, across his stomach and along the trail of hair to his cock.

"Your hand is my mouth, I'm sucking you; you're deep inside, pushing against my throat…"

Syed's hips bucked, unable to hold on and Christian automatically responded, timing his movements to ensure they came together.

"_Christian…"_

"I love you Sy, I love you…"

"_Oh my darling…"_

Spent, Syed slumped backwards, hair tousled against the pillow, and reached out towards the screen.

"_...I wish you were here."_

"I wish I was too. Soon. I promise. When I've sorted out a new manager, and helped them settle in. A matter of weeks…"

"_Weeks?" _Syed wailed, gripping the crumpled sheets in frustration. "_Agony… Shit!" _He sat up quickly, staring away from Christian, across the room. "_Someone's at the front door!"_

"Ignore them."

"_I can't! It might be Amira…" _ Syed grabbed his jeans and frantically clambered into them. "_… She's still got a key."_

"Why?" Christian snarled, the information dousing his warm glow as efficiently as well aimed bucket of ice cold water.

"_I forgot to get it off her. I'll do it today."_

"Maybe she should walk in on this. Finally make her realise."

"_Christian! She does realise. A divorce is pretty conclusive."_

"SYED. I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"

Even Christian, miles away, heard the screech bouncing off the satellite towards him, and groaned, dragging the towel over his lap.

"It's your mother." He stated bitterly.

"_I'd better see what she wants, it might be about Tam. Speak soon? We must do this again. Love you."_

Pressing his face close against the camera, Syed lowered his long eyelashes and blew a kiss. Like an extinguished birthday candle, the screen went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

"Babe, that went so well!"

Syed could hear the noise Amira was making behind him, but couldn't find the will to listen to the words. He pulled at one of the slats on the blind and stared out of the window, at the privet hedge, bright leaves quivering in the wind, and at the rain steadily driving onto the grey square. Days had passed since Christian had told him he wouldn't be coming home straight away, that he felt obliged to stay until he had found someone else to run the bar, and each one had dragged as slowly for Syed as if he had been employed as head monitor at the paint drying research unit.

"Weeks…" He muttered.

"What's that? Aren't you excited? We're bound to get an order from at least one of the meetings…"

Amira lifted the heavy weight of her hair, and switched it to rest over her other shoulder. She pouted glossy lips at Yasmin, sitting propped up on the sofa, her sweet face crumpled and cross, and knew, from the clenching of her small fists, she was on the verge of tears.

"…Shame Mum wouldn't keep Yasmin for longer. We could have gone out to celebrate. There's a fantastic new restaurant opened on the High Street, Malaysian fusion, I really want to try it out… Anyway, I've got an appointment at the salon…" She turned her wrist to check the time on her watch. "…In about ten minutes! Pampering package, my nails desperately need doing. You're okay with Yasmin aren't you? We can go to the restaurant another time. Syed?"

Syed turned wearily, torn away from remembering Christian flapping the local paper at him, reading out an article about the new restaurant, expressing a desire to go as soon as it opened, exclaiming gleefully, "It has ambience! In Walford! Imagine! There might be coulis and foam and amuse bouches!"

'So I'm not going with you…' He decided mulishly, replying,

"Whatever."

"Have you been listening to a word I've been saying? You did remember to cancel the guy from that bargain chain, didn't you? We need to shift stock, but the cost price he was offering was ridiculous."

'I told you that.' Syed bit back the statement and walked over to Yasmin, crouching on his knees in front of her, trying to avert the oncoming storm of fractiousness by pulling funny faces.

Amira picked up her handbag and stroked Yasmin's cheek.

"Bye cutie! Be good for daddy!"

"She's always good, aren't you sweetheart? Oh, Amira…."

"Mmm?" She paused, waiting expectantly, and Syed took a deep breath.

"I need the keys back. Christian will be home soon…" He saw her brows dip, a mix of sadness and animosity briefly visible.

"Sure…" She delved into her bag, and attempted to unhook the keys from a sequinned purple fob, getting them wedged half way around the circle of metal, and pinching the end of her finger. "Damn it!"

Syed stood, and gently helped her to release them, sliding them free, smoothly and easily. Seeing how brittle and broken the action seemed to make her, the tears on her lashes, he relented, an onslaught of agonising guilt making him give them back to her and smile kindly.

"Keep them until Christian gets home. Enjoy your pampering."

Smug at her small victory, Amira simpered and sashayed along the hall to the front door, unlatched it and opened her umbrella with a savage flourish.

"Ow."

"I'm so sorry!"

The man standing on the doorstep, under a drip from the overflowing gutter, rubbing his shoulder where he had almost been speared by the point of her umbrella, didn't seem like a buyer for a chain of low cost outlets. Wearing a well cut vintage dark green pinstripe suit, frayed at the lapels, a dark red shirt, top button undone, and a pair of geeky black glasses spattered with raindrops, he didn't look like a gas man or a canvasser either. Amira reached the conclusion that Syed had neglected to cancel the appointment, and stood aside to let the man in, pouting prettily.

"Come in, please. Did I hurt you?"

Rory wiped his feet on the doormat, vaguely registering the possibility she might be flirting with him. His hair lay damply over his forehead, and he slicked it back, resisting the temptation to shake like a wet dog.

"It's fine, honestly." He gave her a lopsided grin, and she tottered slightly, the high heels of her suede boots scraping on the laminate boards. He considered advising her to pop back inside and put on some sensible wellingtons.

'Or carrier bags as overshoes…' He stopped himself from saying it aloud, and gazed at her with deep brown eyes, leaving a silence for her to fill.

Unnerved, Amira waved towards the flat.

"Um. My husband is inside." She hesitated, torn between appearing professional for the sake of the business and the lure of the beauty salon. "I'm afraid I have a prior engagement…. He's with our daughter. Trouble with the nanny… You know how it is…"

Rory nodded sagely.

"Oh yes. Awful. Nannies, the very devil…"

"Do you have little ones?" Amira enquired, pleasantly enough, though her urgent need to escape from the strange man was plainly evident.

With a straight face, Rory replied,

"A big one. Lovely to meet you, enjoy your day," and knocked on the door to the flat.

Groaning, Syed lifted a grizzling Yasmin onto his hip, jiggling her up and down, hoping to avert the inevitable progression to full on bawling.

"What's silly mummy forgotten? For goodness sake Amira, you'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on… Oh!"

"Hello! I think I'm meant to be someone else."

"Rory! Hi…" Yasmin raised her little dimpled hands and batted Syed on the face, straining backwards, trying to escape his hold. "Hush, darling…" Dodging the blows, Syed grimaced at Rory. "Meet Yasmin, she's a little cherub."

"She's beautiful, and noisy. May I?"

Balking, taken aback, Syed handed Yasmin into Rory's outstretched arms. He held her in front of him, saying and doing nothing, and she immediately calmed down, her eyes widening with fascination.

Rory stayed still, until the baby gurgled and beamed at him, and then gave her back.

"There you go. I'm like a baby whisperer."

Impressed, Syed settled Yasmin onto the sofa, handing her a brightly coloured squeaky foam cube, and she entertained herself by repeatedly slamming it against a cushion, giggling at the noise.

"How did you do that?" He asked.

"I'm happy today. She could probably tell…"

Syed gave him a sidelong glance, unsure of how, until Rory grinned broadly and his whole being seemed to light with joy.

"…I know it's difficult, I've been accused of rampant inscrutability on many occasions… Michael's coming home soon. Yay! It's probably the glasses. My daughter Fred used to find them fascinating when she was her age. How are you?"

Syed suspected Rory had been right the first time, that Yasmin's transformation had more to do with Rory's air of calm serenity than the spectacles, certain she must be able to sense the contrast to his own jangling, frustrated stress.

"Fine, fine. I wasn't expecting to see you… Sit down. Can I get you a drink? Christian left some beer…"

Moving a box of tee shirts out of the way, Rory sat at the dining table, his trousers sticking damply to his thighs.

"I'll have a cup of tea, if that's all right. I hope I don't leave a damp patch."

"Pardon?"

Syed couldn't be sure he had heard him correctly, above the boiling of the kettle.

"I foolishly thought it was going to be a nice day today. So I've come out inappropriately dressed."

"Oh, right. Do you need a towel? It's been filthy for ages now, hasn't it? And cold…" Tailing off lamely, Syed busied himself, looking for the teapot he was sure they kept for guests, painfully aware that they were talking about the weather. He felt heat prickle at the nape of his neck, recalling the issue between them that had never truly been addressed.

"It has. Michael and Christian took the sunshine with them… I'll dry out soon enough. I might emit a strange waft of damp wool for a while. You look smart." Rory twisted in his chair and smiled politely. Syed tried to fathom from his expression if he was about to start berating him for kissing his boyfriend and nervously fiddled with the edge of his grey suit jacket, wishing he could escape from the remembered taste of mingled salty tears on his tongue. The action of getting the milk carton from the fridge gave him the chance to cool his flaming face, and he said,

"We've had meetings this morning. Do you take milk? Is ordinary tea okay? Michael mentioned you preferred a speciality one…"

Yasmin threw her toy onto the rug, and looked at Rory inquisitively, as if she, too, needed to know. He retrieved it and handed it to her.

"I'm sure he didn't put it as nicely. Was it more along the lines of 'bin bag muck'? Anything is lovely. Milk and one sugar please. Did your wife think I was another client? We met at the door."

"Ex-wife." Syed stated firmly, squeezing the Minute Mart own brand tea bags against the side of the pot with a spoon, making a mental note to try and make time to get to the supermarket. "Only legal formalities to go through now…"

"Of course. It's just she referred to you as her husband."

"Did she? She shouldn't. Must have thought you were to do with the business. It makes it easier for her. A lot of the people we deal with, especially in Karachi, are quite… conservative. She feels it protects her from the shame of…"

'Marrying a gay man whose heart and body lay with another…' Syed thought, savagely stirring the sugar into Rory's tea. He felt a double rush of guilt; knowing how much Christian would hate her using the title, when, rightly, it would soon belong to him.

"Thank you…" Rory took the mug from Syed. "…It must have been hard for her…" His gaze slid across the room to where Yasmin had abandoned the toy and turned her attention to the fascinating task of removing one of her pink socks, and then back to meet Syed's eyes.

"…Well, at least once…"

"Ha!" With a splutter of laughter, relieved that the ice had been broken, Syed slipped into the chair opposite Rory, and grimaced.

"That was down to Christian, really." He rested his chin on his hands, summoning his courage before he spoke. "…I'm so sorry, about that night at Michael's…."

Rory took a sip of tea, his glasses steaming up, and shook his head.

"Honestly, forget it. I blame the drink, on his part. Grief for you I think. That's his default position for making things better, the soppy idiot… I'm glad it turned out well for you and Christian."

"Even so, it must have been horrible for you. When I saw Christian with somebody else…"

The image of Christian and the other man, sharing coffee in the square, stabbed at Syed, and he inhaled a lungful of air before continuing, feeling winded.

"We weren't together, but…"

"It gave you pain. Did he have clothes on?" Rory asked, leaning across the table to touch Syed's elbow sympathetically

Puzzled, Syed nodded.

"Count yourself lucky. I'm sure emotionally, Christian was always with you. Put it in the past, Syed. File it under S for shit happens, and if Yasmin's first word is shit, then blame me, sorry. I shudder to think what my daughter's language is going to be like now Michael's around…"

"Colourful? You're right…Do you want a biscuit? We've got custard creams."

"No, thanks. I'm more of a Party Ring man, myself. Shall we go out somewhere? If you're not busy?"

Syed raised his eyebrows quizzically, surprised at the suggestion. The prospect of all the things he should be doing filled him with exhaustion, and he realised a break from the monotonous effort of killing time until Christian returned, might be exactly what he needed.

"Sure. I was going to open the stall, but now I've got Yasmin… Where were you thinking of going?"

Discarding his plan to attend an afternoon talk on the reign of Edward the Confessor at the British Museum, on the grounds that it might be a little dull for Yasmin, Rory hunted around for inspiration and spotted a toy stuffed giraffe perched jauntily on top of the television.

"I don't know. The Zoo?"


	13. Chapter 13

Rory and Yasmin regarded each other solemnly, and Yasmin politely held out her toy. Rory took it from her and squeezed the foam cube, opening his mouth as if he was making the squeaking noise and she clapped her hands in delight, her broad smile turning to a frown of outrage when Rory's phone rang and he handed the toy back.

"Sorry sweetheart!" He apologised, eager to hear Michael's voice.

"_Rorrrrrrrrry. I love you! What you doing?"_

Smiling fondly, Rory replied,

"Sitting in Christian and Syed's flat."

"_ARE you? You went! Is Syed there?"_

"He lives here. He's gone to pray and change. Not simultaneously. I'm having a chat with Yasmin."

"_Aww! Is she as pretty as her picture?"_

"Prettier. You should take one of her."

"_I will. What's their new flat like? Is it like to the old one? Is it nice?"_

Rory cast his mind back to the brief moments he had spent in the flat above the chip shop. He recalled little of how it had looked, his only memories those of how he had felt, detached, unhappy, broken with worry for Michael, hating the drag of trying to do the right thing for everyone, loathing his stultifying caution. He remembered Christian and Syed standing before him, Christian's concern, Syed's confusion, their total unity. His eyes lit upon a photograph in a frame, the pair of them, radiant with love, and said,

"There are doors, there's furniture. It's their home. I think wherever they were together, even in a cardboard box, would be that. How's Berlin?"

"_Epic! I feel like Sally Bowles."_

Rory laughed, and Yasmin joined in, to be sociable.

"You are a camera?"

"_Eh? I am a what? Oh, I get it, smart arse. Honestly, it's fabulous! Next time, you're coming with me… I've got a bad news though…"_

Heart sinking, Rory twisted the mug on the table in front of him, watching the cold remainder of his tea swirl around the bottom.

"Boo. What?"

"_The weather's been pants, so the shoot's taking longer than expected. I might not be home for another week…. Gutted."_

Disguising his disappointment, not wanting to add to Michael's, Rory kept his tone cheery.

"Never mind. I've still got some work to do on my dissertation, and the publisher's on at me… So I can concentrate on that and give you my full attention when you get back."

"_FULL attention?" _Michael's dirty chuckle almost disguised his plaintiveness.

"The fullest."

"_Yay! How are you finding Syed? And don't say you just looked and there he was, or I won't bite you."_

"You're so harsh. He's okay, I think. Bit sad and stressed behind the eyes. The ex was here when I arrived, bizarrely proprietorial… I've suggested a trip to the Zoo, and he's accepted, god knows why."

"_To the Zoo? You've never taken me to the Zoo."_

"Did you want to go to the Zoo?"

"_With you? To the Zoo? I do…"_

Rory suspected, rightly, that a sulky pout might be taking place on the other end of the line.

"Poor thing, you'll have to be content with being divinely decadent at the cabaret…"

"Hi! Hope you didn't get too bored. I've packed Yasmin's bag… So much stuff for such a tiny person… Oops!"

Appearing from the bedroom, wearing a red checked shirt and a pair of jeans and carrying a large pink bag, decorated with teddy bears, Syed abruptly stopped speaking at the sight of Rory on the phone and mouthed 'Sorry'.

"Syed's here now. Do you want to say hello? Michael wants to say hello…"

Syed took the phone from Rory's outstretched hand and went to sit beside Yasmin, letting her crawl onto his lap.

"_Masood! You okay? Have you forgiven me for crashing your Skype?"_

The thoughts of subsequent times, gazing into the webcam at Christian, when he was certain Michael hadn't been present anywhere in the background, confused Syed for a moment, robbing him of speech as his insides turned to a mush of desire.

"_Syed? Has Rory killed you?"_

"Hello! No, he hasn't, not yet anyway! Did you hurt yourself? It was a spectacular entrance."

Michael roared with laughter, and Syed joined in, glancing nervously at Rory, puzzled by his apparent detachment.

"_I say! I did, actually. But Christian had already ruined me by making me run for miles. He's well fit, your man. In so many ways…"_

"Steady! How was he?"

"_Lost without you. He really misses you, Syed. I'm so glad you're back together."_

"Thank you Michael. You know when…"

Aware that Syed was covertly studying him, Rory tuned out the conversation, peering intently at the spines of their DVD collection, occupying himself by translating the titles into Latin, getting stuck on one in particular, muttering "Mane Mecum?" under his breath.

"_When?" _Michael quickly worked out what Syed meant, and responded brightly. _"Oh! That…That was my fault, and my pleasure, never could resist lunging at you… Still, I guess we're even now, in the 'no' stakes…."_

The memory of a sunny day, his hands strong against Michael's chest, repelling him, and of a more recent night, of Michael gently taking his hand, removing it from his thigh, the two contrasting rejections, seemed to Syed to round everything into a neat circle.

"I guess we are… You and Rory must come over for dinner, when Christian's home."

"_Definitely! And you two should come to ours. I can cook a bit now! Though it might be better if Rory did it…. Less vomiting. Or if we got a takeaway. Or went out… How've you been? How's the family?"_

"Recovering, since the fire…. I told you that Mum and Dad are back together, didn't I? Tambo's still struggling with his injuries…"

"_What? What injuries?" _Michael began to squawk and splutter in shock at the news, making Syed realise how cloistered he had been, absorbed by his pain on Christian's return, and by his joy on their reunion, wanting only his company, neglecting his friends. "_When you'd said in your text that there'd been a fire, and that Christian was heroic, I never realised it was so bad! Shit, I wish I'd been in the country. Bloody Versace and the Maldives…"_

"Damn those glamorous things! Aw, Michael! It's okay, he's recovering physically, it's psychologically that's the problem."

"_Send him my love. We're definitely coming over now. I want to hear more about Christian being a hero. He never mentioned a thing!"_

Syed glowed with pride, almost feeling the pressure of Christian's arms around his waist, pulling him back, stopping him from running into the terrifying flames.

"He wouldn't. It's a date then, soon as everyone's home."

"_Too right! And how's your little princess?"_

"I take it you mean Yasmin, and not Christian…" Syed sniffed, nostrils suddenly assailed by a familiar smell, and pursed his lips at Yasmin. "…She's wonderful, but stinky. I'd better go and change her… for the millionth time. It's been lovely talking to you, Michael, I'm sorry I haven't been in touch more."

"_I'm utterly crap at keeping in touch, so I'm as much to blame. See you soon. Look after Rory at the Zoo; don't let him wander absentmindedly into the lion's enclosure. Christian really loves you, you know that?"_

"I do. Take care, bye, bye…"

Whisking Yasmin up, Syed handed the phone to Rory, embarrassed at having kept Michael from him, saying as he made his way to the bathroom,

"Madam needs changing again…. Apologies for monopolising your boyfriend…"

"_Why didn't I know how bad the fire was?" _Michael demanded, and Rory scratched his head, searching for the correct answer, musing that he had no idea, and was hard pressed to think which fire Michael meant. It eventually came to him, a recollection of Michael, gloriously tanned and wearing nothing, lying on the bed and catching him up on the gossip, before he silenced his mouth with his own.

"Because you were on a beach, looking handsome for money? Because we're men and rubbish at communicating the important stuff, unless pissed?"

"_Fair point. Mind you, you're not even that good at it then…"_

"You think you are, but you're just saying bibble over and over again… I adore you. Is that communication enough?"

"_Bibble. Think of me at the Zoo."_

"I will, constantly. Especially when we get to Monkey World."

"_Ha ha! Monkey World is somewhere else. My Auntie Trudy took Granddad there. He said 'sure and it was fine' but I suspect it wasn't his best day out. Shall we get a monkey? I could buy one for Fred if she does well in her exams."_

"Michael, I swear, if you buy a monkey, I will go out with it instead of you…"

Rory stood as Syed re-entered the room.

"…We're off. Call me later?"

"_I will. Have fun. Send me pictures. Try to have a proper talk with him, Ror. Perk him up…"_

Studying the slight figure, waiting patiently for the phone call to finish, cradling his baby girl close against his chest, Rory promised doubtfully,

"I'll give it a shot…"


	14. Chapter 14

Syed and Rory stood beside each other in the weak sunshine, saying nothing, regarding a supine lion, Rory, nonchalant, with his hands deep in his trouser pockets, and Syed, preoccupied, leaning on the back of Yasmin's pushchair, worrying if she needed feeding, changing, entertaining, or all three.

Their journey to the Zoo had also been largely silent. Rory had found a discarded paper on the tube, and had spent his time, cramped in a corner seat, trying to keep his long legs out of the way of other travellers, successfully completing the crossword. Meanwhile, Syed crouched by the doors, attempting to stop Yasmin from escaping and warding off her oncoming tears of frustration with a frenzy of toy moose waggling, while the women in the compartment, of all ages, each stole covert looks at him, quietly melting into secret pools of desire as they yearned to touch him.

On arriving at the Zoo, the two men became engaged in polite jousting as to who would pay the entrance fee, eventually agreeing to share the cost, Syed unable to prevent himself from opening his eyes wide in consternation, disturbed when Rory casually announced that it was only right to go Dutch on their first date.

The lion opened tawny eyes and stretched its front legs along the wooden shelf where it lay, curling its big paws to knead languorously, and Rory thought of Michael, stifling his cries of pain as their cat Ghastly dug her claws into his bare chest, and Syed thought of Christian, flexing his muscles in the sunshine, strong and magnificent. The lion blinked, and opened its mouth wide in a yawn, pointed teeth clacking together as it closed.

Automatically, Syed did the same, and Rory gave him a sidelong glance, upper lip twitching in amusement.

"Did I just do that?" Syed looked shocked at his own reflex action, and then giggled. "That's Michael's fault. On a school trip here, we spent most of the time mucking about doing animal impressions. He used to do a phenomenal penguin…"

"I've seen that. It's still in his repertoire…"

"I'm sure that never gets old…" Syed said sympathetically, noticing Rory assume a long-suffering expression. "…When we got bored of that, we skived off. Ended up at Camden Lock, sitting by the canal. We chatted up some Goth girls, well, Michael did, I ate the lunch my mum had packed for me and tried to look cool…" Amused by the memory, Syed realised Rory's interest had become more than distractedly polite and continued with the story. "We went with them to a flat in Kentish Town. Goodness only knows who it belonged to, I doubt we cared at the time, but I suppose you don't when you're fifteen…"

"And up for anything?" Rory asked, and Syed grimaced.

"Technically no, not even remotely… My girl was very insistent, poor thing… Luckily, Michael figured out from the way I was trying to escape through the back of the sofa and my rigid mask of horror as I tried to disentangle myself from the groping, that, to put it mildly, I wasn't having the best of times. He prised his one off his face. Ha! He said it was like being unblocked by a sink plunger, and deposited her on the floor in a pile of black lace and metal, announced that we had an important appointment with our gynaecologist, dragged me free from the flailing tentacles, I swear she was part octopus, and bundled me through a door. Unfortunately, it wasn't the front one, and we ended up in a bathroom, pissing ourselves laughing. We had to jump out of the window…"

"I hope you were on the ground floor!"

"Nope. Third. We shinned down the drainpipe, and I tore my school trousers. My mother went ballistic… She never bought the story about a wayward bear that Michael suggested…"

"Funny that. He probably would have got away with it with his mum… Sounds like the pair of you had a good time at school."

For a moment, Syed worried that Rory's calm, matter of fact statement, belied a latent jealousy, aware of the way Christian would sometimes purse his lips tetchily, if he went on about Michael and their escapades, how easy it was to wind him up, and easier still to win him round with kisses and endearments. He glanced at Rory, relieved by his untroubled demeanour, his obvious acceptance of Michael's wild existence before they met, and answered,

"Yes. Mostly…" He didn't mention the constant agonising fear of being found out that had dragged at him, every waking moment, like a backpack full of bricks. The struggle of denying to himself how he truly was, the exhausting subterfuge, or how, when he would catch Michael looking at him, puzzlement in his beautiful blue eyes, desire caused his blood to burn hot in his body and he would hate himself, and hate Michael for making him feel that way. His throat ached as he recalled how he had tried to hate Christian too, for causing the same effect, but far worse, impossible to conquer, mixed, as it was, with profound, undeniable, love. He fought away from his reverie and managed a wan smile.

"You? How was school for you?"

Rory took his hands from his pockets and took his glasses off, studied them absentmindedly, and put them back on, the sound of shutters descending almost audible.

"Marvellous. Better than home anyway… I suspect Yasmin's finding us dull…" He gestured towards the pushchair. Yasmin slumped against the restraining straps, fast asleep, eyelashes fanned over her round cheeks, mouth slightly open, dribbling onto the collar of her pink coat.

"Typical!" Syed wiped her chin tenderly and tried to ease her into a more comfortable position, managing not to wake her. "Bring her out for to a place full of sounds and sensations and she passes out! Did your daughter do this?"

"Fred? I didn't have much to do with her when she was Yasmin's age…" Rory confessed. "….I just used to turn up sporadically with a balloon and a book token. In fact, I may have given her a book token for her first birthday. She must have been delighted. Is Yasmin reading yet?"

"She got half way through War and Peace, but decided there weren't enough pixies in it for her liking… She can stand…" Syed glowed proudly, leaning down to stroke a strand of hair from her forehead. "…And she's got some words, well noises, so you don't have to worry about the first one being 'shit'…"

"Thank the lord!" Rory laughed and raised his arms in mock celebration.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, casting shadows across the lion enclosure, at the same moment as a frown that darkened Syed's features.

"She says 'moo moo' and 'mum mum'. No 'dada' yet… Still, it would be nice if she saved that for when Christian is there with me. I feel I've missed so much, Rory… All those months when I didn't even know she existed."

Giving Syed's shoulder a brief reassuring squeeze, Rory responded sympathetically,

"I wouldn't beat yourself up about it. How was that your fault?"

"I guess…" The lion jumped down from its perch and ambled towards them, making Syed protectively move the pushchair backwards, despite the protective barrier.

"… How did you cope with being shut out of Fred's life?"

"Oh, I wasn't. It wasn't part of the deal; I merely provided the gubbins and popped up occasionally as an honorary uncle. I remember once taking her to one of those adventure warehouse type places, lakes of coloured balls, and textures and foam stuff. The volume was hideous; I fully expected that my brain was going to come bursting out of my ears. I was so useless, the other parents obviously suspected I'd stolen her, and she slept through the whole experience, while I manfully stuck it out on the off chance she might wake up. I didn't have a clue… Still haven't. It was only unfortunate circumstances that led to me having to step in and be a proper dad, and because Fred needed me to… I'm so glad, not about the circumstances, because that was awful for her mother, but that Fred and me worked it out between us. You will too, you and Christian and Yasmin and her mother, Amira is it? She's a lucky girl, your Yasmin. Trust me. I know stuff. Shall we go and look at penguins? See if Michael's version is as good as he believes it is?"

They fell into step and left the lion behind, gazing hungrily after them.

"Does…" Syed hesitated before continuing, reluctant to voice his fears, yet driven by them to seek reassurance.

"…Does Fred have trouble at school? For having a gay dad?"

"Bullies you mean? I daresay some of them have tried… She's a very pragmatic girl, my daughter. Her best friends don't give it a thought, those who want to be her friend think it's 'awesome', especially now Michael's turned up, he's done wonders for my celebrity status, and anyone who might have something derogatory to say, she takes no notice of, because they are beneath her contempt. To her, I'm just her bumbling silly dad. Luckily, she isn't the only child with same sex parents at her school. There's a whole range of new types of families nowadays anyway. Single mums, single dads, stepfamilies. One girl in her class has four men that she looks on as father figures because her mum's been remarried so often. If Fred's mother manages to hang on to her partner, which, please god, she will, Fred'll have two dads, and Michael, who is sort of a dad, but don't tell him or he'll freak out. The sort of dad that spoils her rotten and gangs up with her against the other dad…. Hopefully, as Yasmin grows up the world will become a better, more tolerant place. I won't hold my breath and I daresay I'm being too glib… I'm guessing it's so much more for you to deal with, your faith, culture… How do you get on with your family now? Michael mentioned a fire."

A slight headache began to niggle at Rory's temple. He didn't expect Syed to confide in him, and the effort of providing him with the opportunity had made him tired. He mused resignedly that he had given it his best shot, as he had promised Michael, and he squeezed in next to a boisterous family, finding enough room for Syed to join him with the pushchair, and leaned his elbows on the white wall surrounding the Penguin pool.

Watching a stream of penguins sail down a watery chute, little wings flapping comically, Syed considered rousing Yasmin, so he could lift her up and let her witness the sight. The danger of her waking up cross and teary made him decide against it, and he solemnly studied Rory's fine profile, noticing a red mark on his lean jaw where he must have nicked himself shaving. With a hollow ache in his heart, he envisioned a picture, a reflection in their bathroom mirror, of Christian scraping his razor over his stubble, with his own image behind him, chin rested on Christian's shoulder, protesting that he wanted him to leave it. Loneliness suffused him, and lulled by the peaceful, detached aura that emanated from Rory, it struck him that it might a relief to drop his guard and talk.

He laughed shortly, a harsh dry noise that made Rory turn and raise an eyebrow expectantly.

"The days of punching Christian and wishing me dead seem to be in the past…"

Rory frowned.

"So they should be! But?"

"I think they've come to terms with the fact that I'm gay. They hate it still, I'm sure, and would wish it different, but at least, now, they see me as their son again…and I've given them a beautiful grandchild. So much has happened Rory, you wouldn't believe… My mother remarried her psychotic first husband Yusef, whose daughter married my brother in secret. Yusef was abusive to her…" Syed gripped his hands into fists, digging his nails into the palms. "…. He died in the fire. My brother was badly burnt… Christian went into the flames, to get my dad…"

Seeing the tears spark in Syed's eyes, Rory reached out and gently touched his arm, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

"…We weren't together, and he thought I was going backwards, that my family had taken me over again, yet he still did that, despite everything…"

"Because he loves you. They won't accept him, after all that?"

"It's not so much that they don't accept him, they won't include him. He has no proper place, and he should have. He's my partner, it isn't fair on him."

Angered, Syed scowled at Yasmin's bag, looking at one of the teddies in the pattern as if he wanted to punch it.

"Nor you…" Rory pointed out. "You had to go through all of this on your own? I take it you were bearing the burden of trying to keep everything and everyone together, with the bonus loveliness of aching for Christian?" He ignored Syed's little shrug of embarrassed denial. "You should have called Michael, Syed. He would have been round like a shot….." He grinned fondly. "…Loves a drama, that boy."

Feeding time had started, and one of the penguins, lugubriously plodding down a ramp, sleek and shiny, attracted both their attention and they chuckled in unison.

"And does the finest penguin impressions known to man… I didn't like to, Rory, after that, how shall I put it, emotional night. I didn't want to make things bad between you…"

The pushchair moved, wheels nudging against Syed's foot, as Yasmin shifted, and she peered inquisitively around the hood. Rory flashed a smile at her and then transferred it to Syed.

"Stop it. We manage that all by ourselves. Look, if you ever need to talk, then Michael's your man. If you ever want to stand about in companionable silence, with random asides, then don't hesitate to contact me. I fancy a scone. Do you fancy a scone? Yasmin's definitely up for it. I think the café beckons…"


	15. Chapter 15

"Hey gorgeous!"

Christian manoeuvred the office chair forward with his feet and adjusted the laptop screen, to get the best possible view of Syed's face.

"_Hello! Oh boo, you're at work. Good job I left my clothes on."_

Seeing Syed's lower lip stuck out in disappointment, Christian felt slightly dizzy at the strength of the urge he had to bite it. He took a sip from the glass of vodka on the desk beside him, and mirrored Syed's expression.

"I'm sorry baby. You could take them off anyway, I won't complain, and it would be a treat for anyone that comes in. We're trying out a potential new bar manager tonight, so there's some good news for you!"

"_Are you? He's excellent, whoever he is. Hire him, even if he's a dipso, klepto serial killer."_

"Ha! He does look a bit shifty, now you come to mention it… Carlo seems to like him."

"_Remember, Carlo has such great taste in men…" _Syed smiled into the camera, hoping he was successfully camouflaging the unreasoned stab of jealousy, at the mention of Carlo, which had hit him by surprise, making him feel slightly sick.

"Oi! What are you trying to say?"

Christian's amused response made Syed relax with relief, thinking he hadn't noticed his reaction. He was mistaken; Christian registered the subtle change in his posture with a lover's eye, and swiftly changed the subject.

"How was your day? Usual business stuff with you and Amira?"

'Shit!' Christian thought, as Syed tensed defensively and began to pick at the wicker on the arm of the sofa. He hadn't meant the comment to sound snide, but he realised it had, impossible as it was for him to ignore the acid sting of resentment that burnt in his gut when he imagined Amira taking advantage of his absence, trying to insinuate her way back into Syed's life.

Syed breathed out slowly, and glanced away, watching the blue lights of a passing police car flash through the blinds, taking the time it took the wailing siren to subside to regain his equilibrium and not rise to the bait.

"_Looks like someone else has been murdered in quiet, sedate Walford on Sea… Did you say business stuff? In the morning, yeah. Some quite promising meetings… Then I went to the Zoo."_

Dealing with another incipient jab of envy, Christian asked flatly,

"Oh right. Nice. Family day out?"

Exasperated, Syed rolled his eyes, and wondered if it were possible to flounce off Skype. Considering whether to just slam the laptop shut, or take it with him so that Christian could see him slam the door, and the resulting trickle of plaster dropping from the ceiling, made him start to laugh.

"What?" Confused, Christian watched him wipe tears of mirth from his cheekbones.

"_The pair of us! If you were here now, one of us would be storming out in a hissy fit. I think it's my turn, isn't it?"_

"I hope so. You always look so goddamn hot when you do it. Especially when you storm back in, right at the moment I think I've really fucked up."

"_And then we have an epic shagathon…"_

Groaning, Christian wriggled in his seat.

"Oh god. I wish we could have an epic shagathon now… I'm sorry, Sy. I'm being a twat. Did you have a nice time at the Zoo? I bet Yasmin enjoyed it."

"_She was spark out for most of it, finally woke up at the penguins. She liked the children's zoo, and she loved the butterfly house. Aw, you should have seen her! Waggling her fingers at them as if she could fly, laughing her head off. She walked a few steps too! I wish you'd been there…."_

'Fat chance of that.' Christian mused glumly. 'Even if I had been at home.' Resolutely adopting a delighted tone, using so much strength of character it made his teeth ache, he said convincingly,

"That's brilliant! Good that you were there, and it wasn't only Amira that saw it."

"_Amira? She wasn't with us. She had an important appointment with a nail technician. I went with Rory."_

"Rory? Michael's Rory?" Christian drummed his feet on the floor under the table in a happy dance, keeping time with the bass that leaked through the door to the office from the club, managing to hide the relief in his voice.

"_Yes... He turned up out of the blue. Bizarre, he couldn't have been passing on the way to anywhere. Here isn't on the way to anywhere… Christian…"_

Pennies began to drop, and Syed's brows lowered sternly.

"…_Have you got something to do with it?"_

Affecting an air of innocence, Christian picked a pencil out of a china mug emblazoned with a cheerful blue cartoon fish and the words 'Playa Del Ingles', and twirled it through his fingers as if he were a giant drum majorette with a tiny baton.

"I may have mentioned to Michael that you might like a visit. He was so pissed I'm surprised he remembered… Still, nice of Rory to bother. Did you get on all right? I know you think he's weird."

"_I never said that!" _Syed protested vehemently, only too aware that he had. _"Odd, perhaps. I couldn't see how he fitted with Michael, and Michael got in such a pickle about him, I thought he was messing with his head…."_

"Not one of my better ideas then? Did you wander about in uncomfortable silence?"

"_No, not at all. We got on fine. He was quite reserved at first, but once he dragged himself away from whatever he was daydreaming about…"_

"Michael's cock!" Christian interjected, and giggled.

Grinning impishly, Syed retorted,

"_And who could blame him? Actually, I enjoyed it._

"I sincerely hope you mean the Zoo. Is that all you did? What did you find to talk about?"

"_Oh, stuff. Uni, politics, you, Michael. We went for a walk in Regents Park as well, until it started chucking it down again. He was telling me about his work, how medieval monks left little comments on the manuscripts…"_

"What. Like 'gadzooks mine arm is killing me'?"

"_Ha! Pretty much! He told me about bringing up his daughter, being a gay dad, in a really matter of fact way… It was good, being away from the square, everything. Made me feel proper normal….We must sort out a dinner, the four of us, when you get back."_

"Yay! Sophisticated dinner party. Will there be a seating plan? Boy, boy, boy, boy… Shall we invite Sam and Steve? Rox? Boy, boy, girl, boy…"

"_NO! Sam would be bored shitless, him and Roxy would start whinging on, wanting to go to a club, you'll join in, and I'll be left with the washing up. Or Sam will try and make us play naked twister again…"_

"As I remember the last time, Michael was well up for it… Okay, grown-ups it is, and Michael, at least until I'm on the third bottle of wine… I'm kidding!"

Christian automatically ducked as Yasmin's squeaky toy hurtled towards the computer screen.

"_Hmm, a little too close to the inevitable horrible truth. We could invite Zahida and Barry and Matt and Calum, except then it turns into a party party."_

Syed's gaze suddenly shifted as he spotted the door behind Christian opening. Swivelling around in his seat, Christian smiled a greeting to Carlo, who raised his hand apologetically, mouthed, 'perdón' and backed out into the club.

"_You have to go?"_

Gloomily, Christian nodded his head.

"I guess I'd better."

"_Oh well… Love you."_

The cold deadness of glass met Christian's mouth as he kissed the screen, liquid crystals spreading away from the pressure, and he craved the warm flesh contact of Syed's lips.

"Sy, you know you said you felt better today, away from the square?"

"_It made a nice change, yep. Why?"_

"Come out here. We'll rent an apartment…" Christian anticipated the oncoming objections and carried on, ignoring Syed's attempt to interject. "…Bring Yasmin. She can play in the sand. We'll make castles… We could stay for Pride, help Carlo out…"

"_Christian…."_

He wanted to put his fingers in his ears and shout 'la', shut out the reasons why it couldn't happen that he knew Syed was on the point of listing.

"…_. It sounds wonderful. I wish I could, but Amira… Don't!"_

Syed bridled at Christian's over exaggerated groan, hurt by his assumptions.

"_I was going to say, wouldn't let me take Yasmin away… I'd really love to, you know I would, but mum's in bits, and Tam's hardly speaking. They need me…"_

Seeing the obvious distress in Syed's eyes, the frown lines on his forehead that he wanted to smooth away with his thumb, Christian chose not to press the point, saying wearily, "Of course… It was only an idea. You sleep well my darling. Speak to you tomorrow. Love you…" and kept the words, 'I need you too' unspoken within his heart.


	16. Chapter 16

Christian grasped the handle on the bathroom door firmly and pushed, swearing when he met resistance.

"Oh for fuck's sake! Not again… Are you going to be long?"

He heard Sas' surly instructions as to where he could go, and what he could do with it when he got there, and stuck his tongue out, throwing in a few rude hand gestures for good measure. He pulled at the front of his sweat sodden blue vest and stomped over to the fridge. Studiously ignoring the orange retro clock on the wall flashing the time at him in neon numbers, warning him that it was far too early, he grabbed a bottle of beer and flipped off the lid.

Mooching out onto the terrace, he leaned on the balcony rail, and took a deep swig, the coldness of the liquid jagging at a sensitive tooth. The town spread out beneath him, a jumble of roofs and whitewashed courtyards, a cat stretched, somnolent, on a low wall, head in the shade of a palm tree, tail swishing in a hot pool of sunlight. A scooter whined along the road beside the sea, and on the hazy blue horizon, the funnels of a luxury cruise ship etched two black lines, scoring the sky. A cool wind sprang up, blowing in from the shore, sending a rotary clothes line below twirling madly, white sheets ballooning outwards, making Christian's sweat chill against his muscles.

"It's all yours…" Christian turned to see Sas on the threshold. She made to go inside, and then paused, narrowing her eyes to look pointedly at the bottle in his hand. "…Drinking already?"

Curling his lip, Christian lifted the beer.

"Yeah. Cheers."

"You know it's Carlo's official relaunch party tonight, right? Fat use you'll be if you're arseholed."

On the verge of pointing out, in no uncertain terms, that of course he knew, as he had spent the last fortnight arranging most of it, had booked the acts, contacted the press, stayed behind at the club until the early hours of the morning, making sure the bar was stocked and setting up a V.I.P. area, Christian was suddenly struck by an exhausting wave of ennui, and answered tersely,

"No shit."

"Sorry… "He started in shock at Sas' simple apology, becoming further disconcerted by the sweet smile she gave him, transforming her heavy surly face, making her appear angelic. She wrapped her thin blue cotton dressing gown tighter around her waist, and stepped down, wincing as the heat hit the soles of her bare feet. Joining him, she wordlessly took the bottle from his hand, sipped at it and grimaced.

"Ack, toothpaste and beer… "

"A winning combination. Might serve it up tonight… If I can be bothered to go, that is. You know me, total shirker."

Sas wrinkled her nose and prodded him in the stomach. The force of the finger jab winded him, and he struggled not to show it.

"I said I was sorry, what more do you want? Carlo's okay now, don't you think? You've done enough to assuage your guilt for leading him on, surely?"

"I didn't…" At the sight of her arched eyebrow and unconvinced expression, Christian let the sentence tail away.

"Whatever. You're tired Christian. The new guy's full of ideas, he's fired Carlo up again. I think it would be okay for you to go home now."

The kindness in her gaze, the constant switching of her moods, made Christian feel as if he had whiplash, and he wondered how Beattie ever coped, being in a relationship with somebody so mercurial. He thought of Syed, in the early days of their relationship, vacillating and changing from moment to moment, twisting him around in his maelstrom, and knew that she coped because of love. He recalled the text he had received from Syed as he jogged along the shore, a brief line of hope that read, 'not long now', as plaintive as a child asking 'are we nearly there yet?'

A sense of relief flooded through his soul, and he took a deep breath of the sweet air, felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, and imagined them fading away, replacing them in his mind with the aroma of traffic fumes and the damp drip of a drizzly London day.

"Sas..." He cupped her cheek gently, and she moved into the pressure, keeping her eyes fixed on his. "…I think you may be right."

"Christian! It's a success, no?"

Pulling away from Carlo's ecstatic hug, Christian beamed at him and shouted above the music,

"Massive one. Well done Carlo!"

"Oh, my darling! I couldn't have done it without you!"

Christian nodded towards a slim figure dressed in black, with a neatly trimmed beard, attentively distributing drinks at one of the tables roped off from the rest of the club.

"And Jacques… He's been brilliant. It's good to know I'll be leaving you in safe hands…"

In the pulsing strobe lights coming from the dance floor, Christian saw Carlo's lower his gaze briefly, fighting with his emotions, trying to appear unmoved.

"Leaving?"

Christian clutched his hand and steered him through the crowds, out past the doorman to the street.

Taking a deep breath, lit by the neon sign, Christian squeezed Carlo's fingers and released his hold.

"Tomorrow. I have to, Carlo. I miss him so much."

"Then you must be with him, angel. Thank you so much, for everything."

"Don't be daft, Carlo! It's you who deserve all the thanks. Without your help, I may never have found my way back to him…"

"You would…" A barely discernible sadness flitted across Carlo's face, gone in an instant, replaced by a broad grin. "… While he is in the world, wherever he is. It is meant." He pointed up to the sign above the club door. "Perhaps I rename… Cristiano's…."

"God! Don't do that!" Christian protested. "Carlo's is fine. Carlo is fabulous… I will bring him to meet you, I promise."

Carlo wrapped him in a fierce embrace, saying close by his ear,

"I look forward… Now, champagne for you!" He tried to bustle Christian inside, but he resisted, saying gently,

"I'll go now, Carlo, if you don't mind… Get ready to fly…"

Strolling to the flat through the midnight streets of the town, without a backwards glance, Christian began to whistle.

Black luggage, uniform and indistinct, travelled hypnotically around the carousel like an incredibly dull theme park ride, and Christian waited impatiently for a flash of colour. The black strips of rubber rippled open, and he almost whooped aloud with joy at the sight of a pink bow. Seizing his bag, he untied the ribbon, folded it up neatly, tucked it away in the pocket of his jacket and headed out of the double doors.

On the airport concourse, his focused attention on the exit sign faltered. A bespectacled figure with a flop of brown hair caught his eye, standing in the crowd, impervious to the people pushing their trolleys around him, staring absently into space, a stuffed toy monkey under one arm.

Christian hesitated, desperate to get home to Syed, weighing up whether or not to go over and say hello. Desultory cries of 'over here' and a brief flurry of camera flashes from paparazzi waiting by the arrivals gate for a soap star, made him turn, and he laughed in delight as Michael leapt over the barrier and pelted past in a blur, launching himself at Rory with such excitement that he nearly knocked him flying.

Intent on his own reunion, aware from the way Michael was wrapped around Rory that neither of them had any idea he was there, Christian blew a kiss in their direction and with a light heart, set off for the tube station.

Christian closed the front door quietly and crept along the hall. At the sound of voices, he clenched his keys tightly in his fist and leaned forward to listen.

"You superstar! Okay next we can get our own little store or maybe even a classy arrangement. What about a little boutique? It'll be amazing… Oh, you're amazing!"

Amira's delighted squealing made Christian's stomach tighten with anger, and he thrust the key decisively into the lock.

"All right stud."

Throwing his bag onto the floor, Christian's heart lifted as Syed backed away from Amira, face a picture of delight, a whirlwind of checks and hair, leaping onto him, pressing the whole length of his body against him, holding him so tightly it almost forced all the breath from his body.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't have been a surprise, would it?" Christian closed his eyes, relishing the pressure of Syed's lips on his own, mouth opening to return a long slow kiss, lost in the feel of him.

"I missed you." Christian whispered, gazing into Syed's eyes, and realised the simple statement could never have the power to convey how much.

Reluctantly remembering another presence in the room, Christian stepped to the side, hands on Syed's waist, stroking his ribs with his thumbs, wanting to be rid of the barrier of cotton, to touch his warm skin.

"I'm not interrupting work, am I?"

With alacrity, Syed seized Amira's coat from the hook and lobbed it at her.

"No, no, no, no. We're finished."

'Yes...' Christian thought, 'you are.'

"The skirting board needs dusting…"

Lying entwined, naked, on the floor of the flat, Christian's voice rumbled through his chest into Syed's ear, deeper than the fast pounding of his heartbeat, and Syed lifted his head to ask,

"After that, you notice my rubbish housekeeping skills?"

Laughing, Christian tightened his fingers around Syed's hair, stopping the stroking to give it a little pull.

"Good job you're such a sex fiend or I'd have to trade you in for a tidier model… A Stepford Sy…"

Robotically, Syed intoned, "I'm a very lucky Sy." He lifted himself up onto his elbow, wincing at the burn from the rug and studied Christian's profile, concerned at his pensiveness. "What's wrong Clarkey?"

Christian quickly tightened his hold, shifting to face him, banging his hip on the base of the sofa as he did so.

"Ow! Shame we never made it to the bedroom… Nothing. How could anything be wrong when I'm home with you?"

Unconvinced, Syed placed his finger on Christian's chin, feeling the stubble prickle.

"I will ask if you can come tomorrow… Or I won't go, or I'll tell Amira not to, she can go and play with Anthony or something…" Anticipating how the conversations regarding any of these options might go down with his mother, Syed nerves buzzed sickeningly.

"Forget it. It'll only stress you out…" Christian touched Syed's stomach, low, near to his groin, and he moaned with pleasure as his cock hardened. "…You've lost weight while I've been away… Not here…" His fingers gripped around his shaft briefly and then trailed tantalisingly along the skin of his inner thigh.

"My knob's got bigger." Syed joked. "Since a mega fit bloke rocked up on the doorstep…."

"Oh, I can see..." Christian straddled him, pinning down his arms. "…And who might that be?"

"Don't know. Our eyes met over a box of herbs…" Syed smiled broadly at Christian, the fond memory amusing him.

"Really? And what were you wearing to entice him?"

"A beautiful, beautiful hygienic hat, rubber gloves, a pinny and a catering uniform."

Gently biting Syed's top lip, Christian murmured,

"Ah! Sounds delightful. Sucker for a man in uniform, was he?"

"No. He thought I was a dick." Syed flooded with pleasure as Christian licked his throat, working his way down his body with his tongue, pausing to say,

"Did he now? I daresay he changed his mind once he knew you…"

"I'm not so sure. I expect there have been a lot of occasions when he's suspected his first impression may have been right… Christian…." Syed stopped him, tilting his head to face him. "…. You know what you said. About your spoils buying out Amira?"

Christian frowned, the blood too concentrated in his erection for him to want to discuss Amira.

"I should have said our spoils. I did it for us. It's what I want, but I know you feel responsible… Can we talk about it later? I've kind of got other things on my mind right now…"

"You and Yasmin, you're my responsibilities… You and me and Yasmin makes three. I'll put it to her… Show me what you're thinking."

"Oh, I will…" With an ecstatic whoop, Christian jumped to his feet, lifting Syed with him, and Syed wrapped his legs around his waist. Smothering him with kisses, Christian carried him, ricocheting off the worktop, holding him with one arm while he swept everything from the table and sat him on it.

They stared at each other, giggling in alarm at the sound of an ominous crack, Christian protected Syed, scooping him up as the table splintered beneath them and deposited them both in a tangle of limbs and shattered MDF.

Both weak with laughter, Christian hitched Syed's knees over his shoulders and spluttered,

"Looks like we're going to have to go table shopping…"

* * *

_**All done. :) Thank you so, so much for reading and reviewing, I hope you liked it.**_

_**I have amended a TERRIBLE ERROR I made with canon in Chapter 12 (shakes fist at canon) Apologies for my rubbish Chryedianness. If I've made any more, let me know! /shame.**_

_**Thank you again! :) xxxx**_


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